The Black Spider
by Warmwoollenmittens
Summary: "Georg.." she bleated, throat working furiously, "I want a divorce." Two years into Georg's second marriage, the Anschluss looms - and his life begins to spiral out of control. Wrapped up in his own bitterness and desperate to feel useful in the fight against the Nazi regime, he loses sight of what's most important. But not everything is a simple case of black and white...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N. Hello TSOM fans! I'm back for the foreseeable future, as this story is likely to be a bit of a mammoth - so I hope you'll join me on the journey! A few things to note (and I hope I've managed to make this clear in the first chapter) this story is set two years after Maria comes back to the Von Trapp villa. Everything has happened as it does in canon (the party, Maria's flight to the abbey, her return, Elsa's subsequent departure, M &G's betrothal etc). However, in my story the Anschluss hasn't yet occurred and so the Von Trapps haven't fled Austria.**

 **I've named it 'The Black Spider' because that's how Marta refers to the Swastika and the Nazi influence is a big theme in this story.**

 **This chapter is a strong T rating but I envisage that the story will become M at some point down the line.**

 **Lastly, please forgive me for any historical/political inaccuracies. I try to do my research but I may be off the mark in places!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE: THE STUDY**

Captain vonn Trapp was in a dangerous mood - a mood that his children hadn't witnessed in full force since the months following their mother's passing. Stooped over his desk, knuckles bleached white against the mahogany surface, he considered the papers spread out in front of him, anchored by two paperweights at each end to stop them curling inwards like the crest of a stubborn wave.

The British had it all _wrong_ , yet again! With the potential threat of warfare looming over Europe like a guillotine suspended above a fragile throat, there was little time to waste. And yet the blueprints in front of him spoke of fundamental flaws. They were minuscule defects - mere pinpricks in an otherwise faultless design - but if there was one thing a life in the navy had taught Georg von Trapp, it was that it only took one pinprick to burst a seemingly impenetrable bubble. A minuscule defect of any kind in a submarine vessel could mean the difference between returning home to one's family and succumbing to a watery grave - and he'd never been one to take chances.

He was beginning to regret ever getting mixed up with the likes of the British Royal Navy, but it could no longer be denied that the Nazi Party's influence had spread across Germany - and most of Austria - like a parasitic infection. The impending Anschluss was no longer just a rumour - he was sure of that. And the realisation had left him itching with the need to do something, _anything_ \- just to feel useful in some way. He simply couldn't sit idly by while a madman threatened his homeland. In any event, the Brits had given him an offer he couldn't quite refuse, thanks to the connections of one John Whitehead - a man whose father had invented the torpedo and whose daughter just happened to have been Georg's first wife.

No - the Anschluss hadn't occurred quite yet, Austria was still Austria, and the whispers of war were still no more than rumours - but the Brits were preparing for the worst. And therefore, so was Georg. Feeling his mood darken further at the thought of an imminent annexation, he whipped his fountain pen across the room in frustration, hearing the pathetic crack of fragile metal and watching the subsequent flecks of ink spatter the wall in protest.

He snorted bitterly at the irony as a memory from months passed rose unbidden in his mind: that of Elsa Shraeder's last-ditch attempts to salvage their relationship: _"then I thought perhaps a fountain pen - but you've already got one!"_

Two years had come and gone since that fateful moment - the moment Georg had chosen his heart over his head. The decision had defied all reasonable logic at the time - but then again, love often did. Barrelling into their world from the sheltered safety of Nonnberg Abbey, Maria Rainer had been a force to be reckoned with from day one, poking holes in his armour with little more than a few words and a battered hand-me-down guitar. She'd won the children's hearts first - and his had soon followed, much to everybody's astonishment - most of all his own.

Oh he'd fought it with every ounce of his being, stubborn old mule that he was - until the moment she'd surprised them all yet again. The moment she'd come back to him. When he'd followed the sound of excitable chatter and discovered her near the lake on that midsummer afternoon, adorned in another dress the poor didn't want and surrounded by the protective entourage of his children, his heart had soared and his stomach had dropped like a rock in a stream all at once. He'd known straight away that she'd heard the news of his engagement. Her face had revealed feelings that she would've vowed to never speak aloud, he knew - not when she'd just discovered he was promised to another. Nevertheless, she'd held his gaze with brave determination in the breathless few moments of their reunion - and he'd found himself rooted to the veranda simply aching for her, all of her, and _only_ her. He'd known then there was no going back.

They'd planned a grand wedding - mostly to stop the tongues from flapping - followed by a fiercely passionate honeymoon during which Georg's convent-sprung bride had proven herself his equal in all manner of unexpected and deeply satisfying ways.

A subsequent two years of married life spent learning more and more about one another had only left him falling more deeply in love with Maria Von Trapp - even despite the occasional but vigorous clash of wills. Arguments like the one that had taken place by the lake were rare these days, but when they did happen, his wife could still give as good as she got! Tiresome as these occasional disagreements could be however, Georg always relished the subsequent reconciliations: heated and deeply intense encounters that were almost as explosive as the fights themselves.

Yes - somewhat surprisingly, Maria had taken to the intimate aspects of married life like a duck to water. The running of the household however - and the seemingly endless social obligations that came with being a baron's wife - were responsibilities she'd made clear she could do without.

"Sometimes, I wish we'd just eloped and started a new life up in the hills as humble dairy farmers!" She'd joked one evening, after a particularly dull dinner party, "you'd make a very rogue-ish woodsman, you know. All unshaven and disheveled."

A chuckle had bubbled from his throat then as she'd appraised him approvingly from across the room, "and here was half of Salzburg and most of Vienna suspecting you'd married me only for my money!"

"Well of course, there was that too!" She'd laughed heartily, a rich, joyous laugh that always bathed him in honeyed warmth.

Despite such an abrupt and startling change to her life, seemingly overnight, Maria had never once complained about the path she'd chosen to walk by his side. In fact, she often told him that he and his children were the most wonderful of blessings, a gift that she'd never envisaged was possible for a girl like her. And he was eternally grateful to her for it - for her persistence in making them a family again and later, for the sacrifices she'd made to become a part of it. The centre of it. Their anchor. _His_ anchor.

Without warning, the clock on the mantle struck 2am, taunting him out of his reverie with the sharp ping of each chime. The fire in the grate continue to crackle heartily below it, and Georg's eyes burned with fatigue as the flames licked light into each corner of the room. Deciding he'd been locked in his study long enough, he packed away the troublesome blueprints and made his way upstairs, finding his wife sound asleep in the four-poster bed they now shared. Exhausted, he undressed quickly, eager to join her in peaceful slumber and forget about the frustrations of the day. It wasn't until he slipped under the covers and spooned himself against her warm, supple frame however, that he realised his body had other ideas.

Unable to help himself, he pulled her closer and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. It was a small gesture, but enough to calm him while setting his blood to a steady simmer all at once - and when she stirred sleepily against his body he had to bite back a small groan of approval. Eager for more of her, he pressed open mouthed kisses to her bare shoulder and felt nothing but relief when she finally stirred again, turning into his arms in the darkness.

"Wharra you doing..?" she mumbled groggily, still half asleep - but he had no answer for her, instead capturing her lips with his own in a way that left no room for questions. Almost instantly, she responded to his urgency in kind - as though his kiss was breathing life into her - and she laced her fingers firmly into his hair, all thoughts of sleep apparently forgotten. Before long, he was questioning who out of the two of them had actually initiated their encounter - for his wife already had him on his back, anchored at the hips, nails raking across the plains of his chest and mouth slack with pleasure.

" _I've missed you_ ," she gasped in the middle of everything, head thrown back, moving above and against him with torturous languidness. Gritting his teeth, fingers digging into her hips to aid her movements, he tried not to think about the subtle meaning behind her words: that he'd been working too much, had been absent in his own home for too long, and that their intimacy as husband and wife had suffered recently as a result. Hit by a sudden and intense wave of need at the thought, he hooked a firm hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her to him for a desperate kiss, surging wildly upwards until they were both crying out from it.

Some time later, while lying with Maria in his arms, he attempted to broach the subject of his absenteeism of late, knowing that he owed her some kind of explanation besides the feeble excuse that the English were working him to the bone and Hitler's threats had left him feeling compelled to oblige them. But like the safety of a favourite comfort blanket, sleep claimed them both before he had the chance.

In the morning, he awoke alone, surprised to find that Maria had risen with the sun and that he - the decorated sea captain of twenty years - had failed to do the same. Then again, it had happened a few times in recent weeks - when the late nights had left him so fatigued that he overslept and his wife - who loved the comfort of a lie-in and was notoriously late for everything - managed to beat him to breakfast. Annoyed and overtired, he forced himself from bed and managed a quick shave before joining his family in the dining room, barely looking up as he scanned the headlines of the newspaper on the way to his seat.

"Father!" Friedrich beamed hopefully upon his arrival, "you're not taking breakfast in the study this morning?"

 _WILL SCHUSCHNIGG CALL FOR INDEPENDENCE PLEBISCITE?_

Georg scowled at the article, wanting to tear the newspaper to shreds as though it were the Nazi flag Itself.

"Father?"

 _Were the majority of his countrymen so brainwashed that they'd actually vote for a madman to rule over their homeland? The very idea was simply absurd..._

"Georg," he vaguely heard his wife's censorial tone from somewhere in the vicinity.

"Hmm?" He murmured distractedly, the words on the page still jumping out at him as he looked for any sign of good news.

"Friedrich just asked you a question."

Eyes glued to the article and brow knitted in concentration, Georg grabbed blindly at a slice of toast from a nearby plate, but made no move to answer, nor to take his seat.

" _Georg!"_

Impatiently, he wrenched his gaze from the newspaper only to discover that all eyes in the room were on him - seven pairs glassy with disappointment and one alight with restrained anger. He heaved a deep sigh - the dull throb of a headache was starting to spark between his temples and guilt seeped like spilled oil in his stomach. But he needed to speak to John urgently about the latest developments. Breakfast would have to wait.

"I apologise my darlings, but I have an urgent matter I need to attend to," he explained with solemnity, folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm, shrinking from his wife's disapproving gaze, "If anyone needs me I'll be in my-"

"-Study." His brood concluded in melancholic harmony.

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 **A/N: I know it seems bleak and I won't deny this story will be very angsty but I hope you'll all enjoy it. I'll try to post as often as I can but work is manic at the moment so please do bear with me!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: thank you for your kind reviews so far. There's quite a lot of set up in this story so I hope you don't mind sticking with me until it starts to get interesting!**

 **Also, thanks to ThoroughlyModernJulie for being cool with me exploring the theme of marital tension (which she covers 10 times better than me in _'If I Lose Myself'_ \- so give it a read if you haven't already!)**

* * *

 **** **CHAPTER TWO: THE FIGHT**

On the day that changed everything, Georg awoke beside his wife - a rarity of late - and the comfort of her presence filled him with peace. Reluctant to leave the warmth of their shared nest, he burrowed deeper under the covers like a petulant child, pulling Maria down with him. Groaning in protest at the disturbance, she stiffened absentmindedly in his arms, her brow knitting even while her eyes remained closed. The reaction evoked a pang of disappointment low in his stomach - it wasn't too long ago that she would relish their mornings together, melting into his arms like a purring kitten before having to greet the day. Now however, their intimacy seemed to have given way to a tension that neither chose to acknowledge, but both knew was there.

The recent weeks had bled seamlessly into one another - a blur of damning political news, covert calls from England, and blueprint after blueprint - to the point that he was beginning to lose track of which day it was. If it wasn't for his compulsive need to read the newspaper every morning, he might not have even known the date. By now, the future of the country seemed bleak at best and holding on to hope seemed as futile as trying to keep a wave upon the sand. In light of all this, and with the promise of another day spent in his study, he relished the thought of just a few more minutes in bed. Trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut, he simply pulled his wife closer.

"Can't the children get _themselves_ dressed this morning?" He grumbled into the shell of her ear, nestling against her softness under the cocoon of their bedding, refusing to open his eyes to the sun that streaked across the room from the chink in the drapes.

"Unfortunately not," she mumbled into the pillow, hair askew and cheeks rosy - just how he liked her, "But I need to dress _myself_ first."

"I'd much rather you didn't," he teased, "in my humble opinion, you look a damn sight better _out_ of your clothes."

"I hardly remember _you_ out of yours," she remarked coolly, before wriggling free of his grasp, throwing the covers aside and hauling herself out of bed.

He was more than a little taken aback by the barb. Maria had always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve and it was no secret that she disapproved of the time he was spending locked away poring over dangerous work. Despite the recent shift in their relationship however, he had thought sheof all people would understand. Fiercely protective of her faith, even after leaving the abbey for good, she knew a lot about duty and the sacrifices made in its honour. Surely she could empathise with his own sense of obligation towards his country?

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he followed her with his scowl as she moved around the bed and made quick work of pulling the drapes back.

"And _what_ , exactly, is that supposed to mean?" He clipped, eyes narrowing, raising a hand to block the harsh glare of the sun.

It was impossible to miss the sudden tension in her shoulders, nor the sigh that she tried to contain - even while her back was to him. Resting her palms on the windowsill and staring out onto the lake, she was silent for long minutes, almost as though she hadn't heard him at all.

This only served to irk him further.

"Maria?"

She whirled around to face him then, eyes alight with challenge - though her tone remained calm.

"It _means_..." she threw her hands in the air, as though she was hoping the right words would fall from the ceiling, "it means we barely _see_ you anymore, Georg."

He stared at her.

" _We?"_

"Our children," she remarked icily, "Remember them?"

"You mean _my_ children," was his scathing reply, and the cruel meaning wasn't lost on Maria.

"How can you say that?" She whispered in disbelief, "I've devoted my life to those little dears! I gave them as much hope and comfort as I could in the face of a cold and distant father. You're brushing them aside again, you know. The same way you used to when-"

"Don't." He warned carefully, his tone cutting, "do _not_ hold that against me, not now. We've been over this countless times-"

"It was Kurt's birthday last week," she interrupted acidly, "you spent _five minutes_ with him."

"He still had a wonderful day and he loved his gift! What more could he want? You know how important my work is to the-"

"Yes, I _do_ know," she retorted evenly, "Because it's all we ever hear about."

"Well forgive me for wanting to do my bit for my country!" He fumed, thoroughly affronted, ripping the covers back and storming across the room to retrieve his robe from the back of the door.

"We're not at war yet Georg. And you act as though the whole world is coming to an end."

"Isn't it?!" He snarled, shoving his arms angrily into each sleeve and tying the sash as though he was wringing a turkey's neck.

He received nothing but an infuriated roll of the eyes by way of response - and it left him spluttering with anger and incredulity. Didn't she understand?!

"Surely you grasp the seriousness of the current situation in Europe Maria. _Surely_!"

"Of course I do," she snapped, "how can you even say that to me! But if the Anschluss _does_ occur and God forbid, war _does_ break out, what then?"

"What do you mean _what then_?"

"Country, or family Georg? Which will you protect?"

He said nothing, his throat working furiously and his jaw clenched tight as her eyes bore into him, waiting for a reply.

"It's my country too," she insisted passionately, clutching at her heart, "And the children's. We'll be just as devastated. But what about doing your bit for them? For us?"

"It's not like I'm going anywhere!" He defended, as though that made everything better.

"No, you're right," she replied quietly, eyes glued firmly to his, "You'll stay locked up in that Godforsaken study, of that I'm certain. The children need their _father_ \- but you may as well be a million miles below sea level on one of your u-boats, for all that they see you."

"Well which is it?!" He boomed incredulously, "do you want me here at home or out there marching alongside those thugs?"

Throwing her hands up, she growled in frustration, "You're twisting my words!"

"Look," he breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to restore some level of calm, "John _needs_ me to-"

" _John_ ," she scoffed, as though the name was poison, "you are nothing to that man but leverage with the British, do you realise that? He'll happily put your life in danger if it serves his own ends."

Anger bubbled like hot tar in his chest.

"If those ends are likely to stop Hitler then so be it!"

"At the expense of your safety and everything else that matters, apparently," she accused with venom.

Positively seething, he opened his mouth to form a rebuttal - but she held her hand up in protest so the words died in his throat, "This is getting us nowhere," she clipped, busying herself with shoving her feet into her slippers, "Perhaps we should just finish this conversation when we've _both_ calmed down and the children aren't right across the hall."

As if that settled the matter, she reached for the radio at his bedside table to put on some music, as was her habit when they had some time to spare before the day began. But Georg wasn't going to take her accusations lying down.

"Maria, don't you _dare_ turn on that radio, I'm trying to talk to you about this!" he protested, outraged - but she chose to ignore him, moving to turn the volume up on the device instead. Her defiance infuriated him more than he could've anticipated and he moved before his brain could register what he was doing. Quick as a dart he lunged toward her and caught her wrist mid-air, fingers curling around the bone like a vine. His grip wasn't rough by any means, but Maria wrenched her arm away as though she'd been burned.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, her eyes wild with fury and something else he didn't dare to acknowledge. It occurred to him briefly that he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so angry - but he was too far past the point of no return with his _own_ temper. Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he began prowling the length of the carpet like a caged lion.

"I'm at a loss Maria!" He bellowed, "I don't know what you want from me!"

"Would it even _matter_?" She spat.

He rounded on her then like a leopard on a gazelle.

"Need I point out that you fell in love with a _naval captain_ ," he reminded her coldly, "one with unshakeable principles!"

"Yes I did," she admitted, her voice raised now as much as his was, "But first and foremost I fell in love with the _man_ , the _musician_ , the _father_ , the _family_! You seem to have lost sight of all that!"

"If you're asking me to be less than I am, you're no better than Elsa Shraeder," he spat, wanting his words to sting some sense into her.

It was a low blow, even after their myriad of harshly exchanged words. A few weeks before their wedding day, they'd had a very frank and honest discussion about his relationship with Elsa Shraeder - and Maria had confessed that she felt entirely inferior to the Viennese socialite. Georg however, had immediately quashed all of her self-doubt, insisting that Elsa had pursued him as a prize to be won, rather than for the man he truly was. He knew without having to ask, that those words had meant a great deal to Maria at the time - and Elsa Shraeder's name had rarely been mentioned since.

Now, Georg rather wished he could stuff the words back into his mouth, insidious as they'd tasted on his tongue. They'd clearly had the desired effect though, for the expression on Maria's face shifted from anger to astonishment and then to undeniable hurt. Stubborn as he was however, he stood his ground firmly, fists clenched at his sides and blood pounding in his ears.

"If that's truly what you think of me," Maria whispered, tears lacing her eyes but refusing to fall, "then I regret what I said."

"Good," he replied curtly, even while his stomach roiled at the insult he'd just paid her, "I'm glad you finally see my point of view."

"No," she bleated, the shake of her head almost imperceptible, "I regret what I said when I took my _vows_."

Her words syphoned the remaining air from his lungs like a bullet through the ribs, paralysing him instantly. Anger and pride swiftly gave way to shock and then hopelessness, as he felt all the fight leave his body.

"Darling, I..." he rasped feebly - and she regarded him with stoic patience, waiting for reassuring words they both knew would never come. The crushing silence spread to every corner of the room, as man and wife stared at each other through the invisible barricade that had somehow formed between them. For once, Georg saw no way of scaling it, no way of breaking through it - and it appeared his wife didn't want him to, even if he could.

When long minutes passed in which he failed to respond, her eyes finally clouded over with melancholy acceptance.

"I'll stay in the old governess's room tonight," she murmured to the floor, before turning on her heel, adorning her robe and leaving him in the centre of their suite to stare unseeingly at the spot she'd just vacated. He didn't call after her, and neither did she look back.

* * *

 **A/N: the line** _ **"I hardly remember you out of yours"**_ **was taken from another Christopher Plummer film if anyone can name it? I always liked that film and that scene in particular, since he looked particularly divine in it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your thoughts so far - as always they mean a lot! I'm whizzing through the updates at the moment so I'll try and keep up the speed!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE: THE LAST STRAW**

A night spent in the governess's bedroom turned into a week, and a week into a fortnight - until Georg felt as alone in his marital bed as he had done in the months following Agathe's passing. He waited patiently for the amorous and frenzied reunion that so often proceeded these fights of theirs - on occasion Maria would come to him, urgently sealing her lips to his without a word passing between them, all harsh words apparently forgotten; other times he would go to her, offering a heartfelt apology before finding himself desperately tangled somewhere between his wife's long legs and the bedsheets. This time however, no such reconciliation came.

Thoughts of such things only served to leave him aroused and frustrated - but a lack of physical intimacy with the woman he loved was the least of his current worries. Since their argument, Maria had barely _looked_ at him. During the day, she busied herself with the children while he continued to squirrel himself away for the sake of his work. Of course, they concealed their differences in polite company, but he suspected the older children were beginning to cotton on to the fact that their parents bid each other a stiff goodnight at the top of the stairs and headed in opposite directions every evening.

He wasn't particularly alarmed however. They would eventually move past it, he knew. They always did. It was simply a matter of who out of the two of them would be willing to swallow their pride first. The problem with that though, was that he'd married a woman whose stubborn streak more than matched his own. Oftentimes he admired her unwavering wilfulness, even found some fiendish delight in the cat and mouse game they would play until they eventually kissed and made up. But there was no doubt in his mind that she was really making him work for it this time.

Well, he'd be damned if he was going to be the one to extend the olive branch! Once or twice he _had_ actually considered seeking her out, apologising for his vicious words and promising to find some kind of compromise that would work for both of them. But then the memory of their argument would push itself to the forefront of his mind, her accusations would ring tauntingly in his ears, and anger would bubble and stew and churn in his gut until he'd not only talked himself out of it, but had actively sworn to himself that an apology would _never_ leave his lips again.

No, he hadn't deserved her accusations and he had nothing to apologise for, of that he was certain. She could play this little game almost as well as he could, to be sure - but she would see sense soon enough. And until then, he would keep her waiting.

Sure enough, his patience eventually paid off. Some time after dinner on an otherwise normal Wednesday evening, he was interrupted in his musings by a gentle knock on the study door. Grunting permission for entry, he heard the creak of the wood and glanced up to find his wife poking her head through the doorway.

"Ah, Maria," he greeted smugly, knowing exactly what was to come and feeling a surge of victory at her imminent surrender. _Finally_ , she'd seen the error of her ways and had come to set things right. It was about damn time!

"Can I come in?" She asked quietly.

"Of course!" He gestured jovially to one of the seats opposite his desk and tried hard to hide the triumphant smirk that was playing at his lips.

"I think I'll stay standing, thank you," she replied, edging into the centre of the room.

"As you wish," he shrugged nonchalantly, tidying his papers away with the complacent emphasis of a victor, "Was there something you wanted?"

Any minute now she would wave her white flag and within the hour they'd be locked in a fierce embrace, he knew. In truth, he could hardly wait. Their game had gone on long enough now and, quite simply, he'd missed her.

She said nothing for a long while, shifting from foot to foot and refusing to meet his eye. Knitting his fingers together atop the desk, he waited patiently for her to speak, watching her squirm and delighting in how adorable she looked when trying to muster up an apology. He'd let her sweat just a little longer, he decided - and then he too would make amends for the harsh words they'd exchanged, for the terrible things he'd said in anger, things he certainly didn't mean.

When she finally spoke however, his wife's voice was that of a stranger's.

"Georg.." she bleated, throat working furiously, "I want a divorce."

In the crushing silence that followed, the smirk fell from his face and his heart simply stopped beating. Oxygen was sucked from the room like matter in the vast nothingness of a vacuum.

" _What_?" He managed to rasp out through the collapse of his windpipe.

Her lungs rattled from the effort of sucking in a shuddering breath, "I... I want a divorce."

He stared at her, dumbstruck. She was joking. She _had_ to be joking. It was nothing but a cruel twist in their obstinate battle of wills, a previously undiscovered trump card that she was using to up the anti. For some unfathomable reason though, she wasn't laughing - in fact she looked very much as though she was trying to hold back tears. Pity. It was _pity_ he could detect in the pained expression that distorted her face. And the realisation sent a wave of panic blooming like a wildfire across his stomach, kickstarting his heart again and sending it slamming against his ribs.

" _Divorce_?"

Saying nothing, she could only nod at the carpet, hands clutched together in front of her skirts to stop them from shaking, clearly too ashamed to even look him in the eye.

"But.. " he scrambled desperately to make sense of it all as the world lurched sickeningly on its axis, "your _faith_.."

"Yes, I know," she squeaked hurriedly, the words tumbling out of her mouth one after the other, "I know the Catholic Church doesn't allow for divorce. But when the Anschluss comes, things will be different. The church will have little say. It will be easier then, whether we like it or not."

"Easier?" He blanched incredulously, suddenly seeing red at the mention of the Anschluss, " _easier_?!"

"To divorce, I mean."

Who was this woman? Where was his Fraulein? Where were her principles? He wanted to scream at this imposter. To grab her and shake her and make her regret ever breathing a _word_ about the Anschluss or the future of their marriage. He wanted to be angry, furious with her for the bombshell she had just dropped upon their safe haven. But all he could muster was a strangled ' _why_?'

Again she said nothing, while an eternity seemed to crawl past them. Desperately, he searched her face for any sign of truth, his mouth agape, sweat gathering like mountain dew on his brow - but he could find no sign of comfort.

"Don't you love me anymore?" He choked, hating himself for the unshed tears that burned at the back of his throat, distorting his voice to a vulnerable and unrecognisable pitch. Her head shot up at the broken sound, pleading with him to spare them both the turmoil.

"Georg, I-"

"At least have the decency to look me in the eye," he challenged, "and speak the words aloud to me."

"We want different things-" she began feebly, shaking her head in hopelessness.

"I want _you_ ," was his simple retort, "just you."

"Georg, _please_..." her tears fell freely now, "please don't."

" _Don't_?!" He spat, despair and resentment clashing like lightning forking the sky, "it should be _me_ saying such things to _you_! Don't be so _cold_! Don't be so _cruel_! Don't be so _selfish_! Don't tear this family apart-"

" _You_ tore this family apart!" she cried, " _you_!"

"What was my sin!" He boomed now, looming large over his desk, "wanting to protect my country? I have been _loyal_ to you! _Faithful_ to you! _Good_ to you-"

"You are not the man I married," she replied quietly, "The man I believed you to be. You are the man I met on my very first day here, when those ballroom doors flew open. Whistles. Orders. No more music. No more laughing."

"We're living in dark times!" He defended sharply.

"No," she retaliated, " _You_ are! I cannot _take_ it anymore, this shadow you've brought over our roof, over _us_. And it's only going to get worse. The future is uncertain, I know - but we have to go on living!"

He was beside himself with shock, confusion, despair.

"None of this makes any sense!" he grappled for control, "Whatever happened to ' _until death do us part'_?"

"Exactly," she whispered, "I won't - I _can't_ watch you walk away from this family and die for a madman. And I know you will, if it means saving this country. At the expense of all else."

"And what about our children, Maria!" he snarled, "How do you propose we explain this to our _children_?!"

"I thought they were _your_ children..." she accused, her voice laced with hurt. Well, he more than deserved the barb - but it only served to infuriate him further now that his previous words were coming back to bite him.

"We are _not_ getting a divorce," he shouted, "I forbid it!"

"Then I will leave," she replied calmly.

"Leave?! And where will you go!"

"The Reverend Mother will help me get back on my feet-"

"Ah yes," he growled sarcastically, "of _course_ , the Reverend Mother! It's what you do best isn't it, running away to that blasted abbey when things get just a little rough! Well I can tell you now, you're not going _anywhere_!"

The wilful defiance he knew and loved in this woman was instantly visible on her face.

"You want to hold me here against my will?" She challenged, "To trap me here in misery?"

"Misery?" he whispered, stunned. _Misery_? How could he have misread the situation so badly. Had he been so wrapped up in his own sense of purpose that he'd failed to see what was happening under his very nose? That his wife was living beside him in _misery_? He'd known things were strained, that they hadn't exactly seen eye to eye in the last few months - but never could he have envisaged that _this_ would be the result.

"You cannot force me," she bleated, chin lifted in false bravado, "I am not one of your cadets, _captain_."

"No, that's right," he croaked softly, "you're not." In a fraction of a second he'd crossed the room, taking her face gently in his hands even while she struggled in vain against him, dainty hands pushing at his chest, "you're _my wife_ ," the words broke in his throat as he stroked the fringe from her brow and fought the quiver in his lower lip, "To have and to hold. To cherish. To have more babies with. To _grow old_ with-"

Her tears slid like icy raindrops under his thumbs as she closed her eyes, shaking her head helplessly between his palms, "I'm sorry, Georg..."

" _Nothing_ is more important to me than my family!" he said fiercely, his eyes piercing hers, " _Nothing_. I swear it! Perhaps I got carried away with the British, but we can-"

"It's _too late_ Georg."

Refusing to give up, refusing to believe the madness he was hearing, he pressed his forehead against hers, the warmth of her gentle sobs grazing his cheek, "Maria please," he wept, "Don't do this. I _know_ you love me, I know it!"

The words that followed drained all the remaining life out of his body.

"I did once. But I don't anymore."

His arms dropped like deadweights to his sides. His lungs choked for air. Until now, she hadn't said the words aloud - words that were so simple and yet so devastating in their meaning. _I don't love you anymore_. It wasn't something he ever thought he'd hear from her lips - such beautiful, pure, joyous, songful lips. Oh how he would pine for them - her lips, her face, her freckles, her fingers, her toes, her golden hair, her silken voice. Her heart - her good, kind, _wholesome_ heart. Her mind. Her soul. At one point he would've fought the whole world for her. But if the woman he loved no longer loved him in return, what was there left to fight for? He wouldn't - he _couldn't_ \- force the affections of a woman who refused to have him.

Devastation meshed painfully with acceptance, like the charred debris left behind after a fatal collision. Reeling, he took an unsteady stumble backwards. Away from her. Away from _them_.

"I'll go to the Bristol for a few days," he offered gruffly, dashing the tears angrily from his face and straightening his tie over the lump in his throat, "I'll give you the space you need. Until we figure out how we..." he trailed off, gesturing hopelessly between them.

"Thank you," she breathed, her face a pale, tear-stained mask, "if the children ask-"

"They won't." He replied stiffly, and he knew it in his heart to be true. He'd spent so much time locked away from them lately that they probably wouldn't even notice his absence. He only had himself to blame.

The silence that engulfed them was deafening, interminable, crushing.

"When the Lord closes a door," she eventually whispered, "somewhere He opens a window."

With an incredulous snort, Georg cast her a desperate look. How could this woman - who he loved so well, respected so well - how could she bring herself to talk of faith and divorce all within the same breath?

"The _Lord_?" He echoed, shaking his head in utter despair, "The Lord has surely abandoned us all."

* * *

 **A/N: I know it all seems a little out of character at the moment - would Georg really push his family away to this extent? Would Maria (a catholic) really ask for a divorce, just like that? Stay tuned!**

 **Historical note: in Austria, the Catholic Church opposed divorce, but the Anschluss and Nazi hostility towards Catholicism weakened this prohibition. Reich Marriage Law in Austria made divorce easier, undermining Catholic authority over family life. Divorce, in fact, was promoted as desirable since it meant that people could form new, racially-approved partnerships. The divorce rate soared, and remarriage and the subsequent birth rate rose. I'm relying (very loosely!) on these facts to make this chapter possible - so please do excuse the creative licence to bend history!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm so grateful for all your reviews and messages so far, thank you! It's so interesting to hear your different takes on whether this is something that G & M would allow to happen. I hope you enjoy this next update.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR: THE BRISTOL**

"Get up."

"Whaa..?"

"I said get up. You're better than this."

The booted foot nudged Georg's ribs again and he groaned in protest, rolling over onto his other side to escape the unwanted disturbance. His head was pulsing and his mouth tasted like cement - the last thing he wanted to do was try and peel his eyelids open to the harsh daylight.

" _Ohhh_ no you don't!" The intruder chorused, locking two hands around his upper arm and pulling him back over again. Growling like a petulant teenager, Georg made to swat the unwelcome hands away - but the intruder persisted in their mission to rouse him from the comfort of unconsciousness.

"Come on!" His visitor prodded, shaking him roughly, "up!"

Cracking one eye open just a sliver - mainly to see who it was that dared to disturb his pity party - it took Georg a long while to focus. Once his vision finally cleared, he was greeted by the sight of one extremely disgruntled Maximilian Detweiler.

"I've been trying to rouse you for _fifteen minutes_!"

Massaging his temples and grumbling unintelligibly, Georg attempted to sit up, "why are you here?"

"Well good morning to you too!" Max retorted, thoroughly affronted, " _Believe me_ , I'd much rather be back in Vienna, gossiping gaily and soaking myself in champagne," he took pause before revealing the real reason for his presence, "Maria sent me."

A snarl of disapproval.

"She's _worried_ about you," Max defended, "We all are. She thought you might be, you know, living in squalor..."

Georg watched as his friend looked around the hotel room, taking in the dirty clothes strewn across the furniture, the cigar butts stubbed out on the ashy table top, the empty liquor bottles rolling around on the floor - and the resident himself, sprawled half-dressed and half-awake on the opulent sofa. The bed in the adjacent room had apparently remained untouched.

"Thank God she was wrong," Max remarked sardonically, turning back to his friend with an eyebrow raised.

"It's been a difficult week."

" _Two_ ," Max corrected, "its been _two_ weeks that you've been moping about feeling sorry for yourself. Now I _know_ your wife left you and you were kind enough to give her and the children the run of the villa and your heart is breaking and _how could she do this to you_ , et cetera et cetera," he waved his hand impatiently for emphasis, "but it's time to snap out of it!"

Grunting unenthusiastically, Georg hauled himself up from the sofa and swayed a little on the spot, his head spinning.

"Bloody cognac," he muttered, steadying himself against the arm of the furniture.

"Is there any liquor _left_ in Salzburg?" Max asked with a hint of amusement, "how much did you have?"

"Nowhere near enough," was Georg's gruff reply as he squinted around the room for a mirror. Spotting one above the mantel, he studied his reflection, barely recognising the man staring back at him. Hair in disarray, rumpled shirt hanging open, bleary-eyed and stubble-jawed. He hadn't woken up in this bad a state since... but he couldn't think about that. Not now.

While he busied himself with stumbling to the bathroom and splashing water on his face, Max took the time to look around again, his nose wrinkled in distaste. He normally loved the way rich people lived, but Georg had managed to turn one of the Bristol's finest suites into an exact replica of their naval academy accommodation. The place was a dive!

Turning full circle, his eyes fell on the sofa again, this time noticing some bits of paper lying amidst the nest that Georg had fashioned. Curiosity piqued, he moved closer and discovered that one was a photograph, and the other a letter. The black and white picture was a recent one of Maria playing on the lawn with the children, her head thrown back and her eyes sparkling with laughter, clearly unaware of the camera focusing on her. It was the letter however - faded a little at the edges and written in a feminine scrawl - that caught his attention.

 _Dear Captain, Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta, Kurt, Marta and Gretl_

 _It pains me to leave you so abruptly but I feel I absolutely must. I believe my errand through God was to bring you closer together as a family but I've come to realise that you've already achieved this yourselves through hope and sheer force of will - and for that I am so overjoyed. I know now the time has come for me to return to the abbey. I miss my life there too much and I hope you can forgive me._

 _Captain, I want to thank you eternally for your kindness, your patience, and for welcoming me into your home._

 _I will treasure the memories always._

 _God bless you all,_

 _Fraulein Maria_

So _this_ was the mysterious letter Georg had received on that fateful day, the day Fraulein Maria - as she'd been so affectionately known back then - had fled the villa. No wonder his friend had been so agitated during the week that had followed. Scanning the contents over again, he noticed a couple of the words on the page were sporadically smudged with dried splotches. Something told him they weren't the result of spilled cognac...

"Having a good snoop?"

Max's head shot up to find his friend in the bathroom doorway, eyes narrowed to slits as he towelled his stubbled jaw dry.

"Maria would've come herself, you know," the impresario waved the letter in the air unapologetically, "but she didn't think you'd want her to."

"And she'd be absolutely right!"

"Why don't you come back to the villa?" Max suggested, "It's certainly big enough for the both of you, at least until you can figure out a better arrangement-"

"For as long as my own wife won't have me, I certainly will _not_ be going home," Georg snapped with finality.

Pitying him somewhat, Max attempted a different tactic, "The children miss you."

"And I them!" was the terse reply as Georg snatched his rumpled trousers from underneath the coffee table and wrestled himself into them angrily, not bothering to do up the buttons.

"Maria mentioned that you dropped by to see them last week."

Georg shot his friend a warning look by way of response. It was true that he'd managed to pull himself together long enough to pay the children a visit a few days prior, avoiding their plethora of questions and claiming that it was his work that was keeping him away. It had been painfully obvious that the older children didn't believe him, casting each other furtive glances the more feeble his excuses became.

"Do you plan on visiting them again?" Max needled.

Georg said nothing, running a weary hand over his jaw. Of course he was going to visit them again - he really did miss them terribly. The thought of seeing his estranged wife however, left his stomach churning. Luckily - but perhaps also devastatingly - Maria had made herself scarce while he'd been at the villa. And neither had he sought her out. It was too soon, too raw - this fresh sting of betrayal.

Donning a brave face in front of his brood, he'd made sure to spend quality time with each and every one of them during his visit. His wife had been right about one thing - he had neglected them of late and, though he might be a broken shell of a man in his most private moments, he wasn't going to make the same mistakes he'd made in the months following Agathe's passing. This time around, he would at least wait until his return to the hotel room before drinking himself into oblivion once again.

"They know what's going on Georg," the impresario sighed, "I pried the bottle out of your hands seven years ago for the sake of those children and I'm more than prepared to do it again now. You need to pull yourself together."

"And I will. I just need a little bit of time."

"Well be quick about it!" Max insisted, "because there's _another_ reason for my visit today."

"Oh?"

"John's been in touch while you've been missing in action..."

Georg raised an eyebrow in mock fascination, "Well, haven't you been a _busy bee_!"

Despite the heavy sarcasm, Max looked rather pleased with himself, rocking back and forth on his heels triumphantly, "I admit I haven't been _this_ busy since trying to snatch that marvellous string quartet away from Sacha Petrie! Honestly Georg, if there's one thing I hate, it's a thief."

"What does John want now?" Georg sighed, flinging himself into the nearest armchair and rubbing the tension from behind his eyes.

"Well, with you being..." the impresario cast another unimpressed look around the room, "... _indisposed_ , he wants me to keep tabs on a man who's caught their interest."

 _Typical_ , Georg thought, with a roll of his eyes. It was just like John to find the next available tool at his disposal as soon as his first option no longer met his requirements. The man hadn't extended a single condolence in the last two weeks, hadn't once enquired after his son-in-law's well-being or his impending divorce. No - as far as John Whitehead was concerned, as long as his grandchildren were safe, Georg's family affairs were of little consequence. And now he'd convinced Max Detweiler to perform his dirty deeds instead.

"Well do _enlighten me_ ," he pushed, "What's this vermin's name?"

"Landa," Max revealed, "Colonel Hans Landa. Pretty high up in Hitler's SS, apparently."

Georg gave a bored shrug, picking lint off his trouser leg, "never heard of him."

"Very pally with Zeller and the like," the impresario bristled with distaste, "Austrian born. In the area doing business with some of the Austrian National Socialist Party. Raising their profile, you know," he gave a flippant wave of his hand, "But of course, one doesn't simply _waltz_ into the SS with no prior credentials - and yet the Brits know very little of his background. They want eyes on him."

"And why would _you_ offer to do that?" Georg sneered, "I thought you had no political convictions, remember?"

"Well, aside from the fact that John didn't really given me much _choice_ ," Max grumbled, "it turns out this Landa is hosting a very high profile soirée at the Goldener in two weeks' time - and I never could resist a good party! Anyone who's anyone is going to be there. And if I'm lucky, the town's next generation of talent will be right under my nose!"

Georg shook his head in disgust, "Another glaringly obvious attempt by the Nazis to get Salzburg's elite on side."

"The Anschluss _is_ coming Georg," his friend replied gravely, "whether we like it or not."

"So everybody keeps telling me!" Was the icy retort.

"We need to at least _pretend_ to get on with these people," Max insisted, "It could be dangerous if you oppose them too openly."

With another roll of his eyes, Georg snorted, "spare me!"

Having heard enough, he flopped forwards in his seat and snatched up the half-empty bottle of Cognac atop the coffee table, managing to bring it halfway to his lips before the impresario smacked it firmly out of his fist. The impact sent the bottle careering across the carpet, liquid seeping into the expensive fabric, leaving Georg's empty hand frozen mid-air. Max could've heard a pin drop in the long silence that followed, his friend's venomous eyes shifting painfully slowly from the spillage on the floor, up to meet his face.

"That was my last bottle," Georg gritted dangerously, looking very much as though he wanted to wring Max's neck.

"It's for your own good!"

"I'm afraid I beg to differ!"

Giving an exasperated huff, Max threw his hands up in the air before anchoring them to his hips and clucking like a disapproving mother hen.

"For how long are you going to mope about like this?"

"For as long as it takes!" Georg snipped.

"You're no better than a petulant teenager!"

"Oh _do_ give over,"Georg whined, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I thought you of _all_ people would at least give me a break!"

"Yes, well," Max retorted smugly, "just think of this little _intervention_ as payback, if it makes you feel any better!"

"Payback?" Georg scowled, "For what?"

"For not allowing those darling children of yours to sing in the Salzburg Folk Festival!"

Despite himself, Georg burst out laughing.

"It's been two years Max," he wiped a mirthful tear from his eye, "isn't it time you got over it?"

"Well why don't you call me in two years' time and tell me if you've gotten over _this_ ," Max whinged childishly, gesturing to the spilled cognac on the floor. He kept a straight face for all of two seconds before he joined his friend in laughter - the infectious sound filling every corner of the stifling room. In truth, it was good to simply see the man _smile_ again, to see that he was still capable of feeling anything besides anger and resentment.

"I _will_ snap out of it, Max," Georg insisted seriously, once their laughter had ebbed, "I won't make the same mistakes I made seven years ago. I just need-"

"I know," Max interrupted solemnly, squeezing his friend's shoulder, "I know, Georg. _Time_. You need time."

An easy silence fell between them then, both of them lost to their own thoughts.

"Max?" Georg chorused some moments later, breaking the pensive quietude, "can I give you a solid piece of advice?"

"What might that be?"

"Don't ever get married."

A bark of laughter.

"I'm afraid you're twice too late for that, Georg my friend!" the impresario chuckled in good humour, twirling his moustache between thumb and forefinger, "but that's a tale for another day!"

"Well in that case, perhaps it'll be third time lucky for the both of us!"

* * *

 **A/N: As I'm sure a lot of you know, Hans Landa is a Quentin Tarantino character from his absolutely brilliant film, Inglorious Basterds. I'm a huge fan of Austrian actor Christoph Waltz, who plays the character of Landa superbly and has won several awards for his portrayal. Apart from the introduction of Landa, this fic won't crossover with Inglorious Basterds in any way. I own none of the characters (though I do wish I owned both Christopher Plummer and Christoph Waltz!)**

 **As always your thoughts on my updates mean the world, so thank you again.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: thank you again for all your reviews. I know things seem unclear right now and you will most likely have lots of unanswered questions/potential theories but I promise all will eventually become clear as the chapters go on. It's a slow burner I know, so I hope you're all still with me!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIVE: THE GOLDENER**

Fully adorned in his tail coat and medals, Georg took a final look at himself in the mirror hanging above the fireplace. By some miracle, he'd managed to polish up rather nicely - despite the fact that only an hour ago he'd been sporting an unkempt beard and a cracking hangover. He'd lost weight, he realised - his waistcoat was a little looser than it had been the last time he'd worn it and his trousers didn't quite fit the same way on his waist. But then again, it was hardly surprising. He'd barely eaten a solid meal in the last four weeks. It was all painfully familiar...

When it'd become glaringly obvious that he wasn't going back home any time soon, he and Maria had agreed to set aside their differences for one afternoon in order to break the news - _properly_ \- to the children.

 _"So that's it then?" Liesl had held back tears upon hearing the truth, "you just.. don't love each other any more?"_

 _"Of course we do darling," Maria had replied quietly when Georg hadn't been able to find any words, "we just love each other in a different way now. But the important thing to know is that we both love you - all of you - very very much."_

 _Unable to hear another word, Georg had simply pulled Gretl into his lap and concentrated on comforting the little girl - though he'd wagered at the time that her warm presence was more of a comfort to him than the other way around. When the torture had finally ended, the children had been sent to the nursery, leaving their parents alone in the crushing silence that flooded to every corner the drawing room. Bowing his head awkwardly in farewell, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides, he'd made for a hasty retreat - but she'd called after him before he'd managed to reach the door._

 _"Georg?"_

 _Turning to face her, his heart had begun beating in a steady gallop against his ribs._

 _"Yes?"_

 _"The Reverend Mother is looking into teaching positions for me," she'd told him quietly, wringing her hands in discomfort, "I... I promise I'll leave your home just as soon as I have somewhere to-"_

 _"_ Our _home," he'd interrupted on a whisper, "It's_ our _home Maria. Ours and the children's. They need their home and they need their mother. Please," he'd insisted gruffly, the words stuck in his throat, "please, stay as long as you need.. just make sure they're alright won't you."_ _  
_  
 _She was still every bit their loving mother, he'd reasoned - in fact, she'd been a mother to them ever since the earliest days of their acquaintance, back when she'd been nothing more to him than 'number twelve'. Their separation would never change that fact. And he would no more wish to cast her out in the street - to tear his children from their mother - than he would wish to tear himself from his homeland._

 _Her eyes had filled with tears of gratitude then,_ _"You're very kind.."_

 _With a curt nod, he'd quickly turned on his heel and-_

 _"Georg?"_ _Her delicate bleat had the power to stop him mid-march._

 _"Why don't you come home?" she offered, "There's so much room here and-"_

 _"Have you changed your mind?" He'd interjected, a little more fiercely than he'd intended._ _Her face marred with sorrow, she'd simply shaken her head. Without so much as another word, he'd spun on the spot and left her standing there - before the look in her eyes had threatened to bring him to his knees._

Leaving his key at the hotel reception, Georg began the short walk across town to the Goldener, asking himself for the millionth time whether he was making a terrible mistake. The last place he wanted to be right now was at a Nazi ball amongst the creme de la creme of Salzburg's aristocracy - stuffy ex-military men and simpering women who would no doubt wonder why he hadn't bought his lovely wife along with him.

There was no way around it though, he thought as he ascended the stairs of the Goldener and made his way through the lobby - whether he liked it or not he was a man of rank, a decorated officer, Austria's most coveted naval hero. It would look incredibly suspicious if he failed to make an appearance at what had been repeatedly referred to as the party of the decade. The last thing he needed was to expose himself as an opposer of The Reich this early on in the fight.

His _main_ reason for attending however, had nothing to do with keeping up appearances. Rather, it was the fact that John needed eyes on the party's host. John rarely needed eyes on _anyone_ , so well-informed was his endless list of connections. Max Detweiler, God love him, was _not_ one of these connections. Easily distracted and fickle to boot, the impresario couldn't be trusted to keep tabs on _anybody_ , unless that person just happened to be the bar keep!

As though Georg's thoughts had summoned him, the charming sponge himself appeared from the adjacent ballroom, cigar clamped firmly between his lips and a champagne flute clutched in his fist. Clearly the party was already in full swing!

"Drinking again, Max?" He called out, tutting in disapproval, "must be unhappy!"

Freezing on the spot, the impresario whirled around and did a double-take.

"Wh.. what the devil are _you_ doing here?" He spluttered, the colour draining a little from his face.

"Well, I have to admit I thought you'd be a _little_ more pleased to see me up and about," Georg replied in mock offence, pressing a palm to his heart, "anyone who's anyone is going to be here tonight, remember?"

His friend swallowed hard, eyes shifting nervously to somewhere over Georg's left shoulder and back again.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to cause trouble. In fact, I'm actually here to keep up appearances," Georg muttered conspiratorially, leaning closer to ensure they weren't overheard, "You were right. We need to pretend to get along with these people. And besides," he chuckled lowly, "you can't be trusted to do a competent job when there's champagne within a fifty mile radius!"

He scuffed the impresario on the shoulder but the man didn't so much as crack a smile, "Georg," he croaked, "I really need to tell you some-"

"Speaking of champagne..." Georg ignored him, scanning the vicinity impatiently for the nearest butler, "it's been an age since my last one!"

"Georg-"

"Ah ha!" he declared, snapping his fingers in triumph as he spotted the bar and the unsuspecting youth stood at the edge of it, clutching a tray of champagne flutes as though he was terrified he might send the whole lot crashing to the floor. Without hesitation, he marched in the young man's direction like a bull charging at a red flag.

"Georg, would you just wait one minute!" Max scurried after him, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to keep up with the captain's effortlessly long strides. Entirely unperturbed by his friend's urgency however, Georg had already managed to snatch up a champagne flute and take a large gulp by the time Max had caught up with him.

"Georg for God's sake!" Max hissed, grabbing him closer by the upper arm and offering a forced cordial smile to some elderly ladies who happened to be walking past.

"What _is_ the matter, Max?" Georg rolled his eyes in exasperation, bringing the flute to his lips again.

"I have something important I need to exp-"

"You must be Captain Von Trapp..." came a deep, confident voice from somewhere behind them, its tone lilting with a hint of knowing amusement. Whirling around on the spot, Georg came face to face with a man not far from his own age, with a strong jutting chin and shades of silver peppering his sandy hairline. Sophisticated in appearance and boasting a noble profile, he seemed to radiate confidence in a way that was just shy of arrogant. To many an onlooker, he would be considered a gentleman, an individual of high standing - someone Elsa Shraeder would refer to admiringly as ' _well bred._ ' It was the superior upturn of his mouth however - not quite a smirk, not quite a smile - and the plethora of medals crowding the breast of his uniform - that instantly gave him away.

"Colonel Landa, I take it?" Georg's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening.

"Ha!" The man barked triumphantly, "Well _guessed_ , Captain! I just knew you'd be sharp as a tack!" He gave a bow of the head and flashed them both a charming smile, "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. You must forgive me for my terribly ill-mannered interruption just now, it's just-" his eyes flashed, "I've heard _so much_ about you."

"Oh you have, have you?"

"But of course!" Landa beamed, "As my reputation would suggest, I'm a detective. A _damn_ good detective. I won't bore you with the finer details of my work, but it's my business to know everything about everyone. Take Herr Detweiler for example," he rounded on the astonished impresario, who - up until that point - had been more than happy to go unnoticed, "a headhunter for the performing arts, long-standing foe of the infamous scoundrel Sacha Petrie, twice married, twice divorced - with a penchant for apfelstrudel, if my memory serves!" with a gleeful chortle, he scuffed a gawping Max on the arm, while Georg simply rolled his eyes.

"Forgive me Herr Detweiler, forgive me," Landa guffawed wolfishly at the incredulous look on Max's face, "I tease rough! As for _your_ feats in these parts, Captain, well - they're nothing short of legendary! Or so my sources would lead me to believe."

"Such stories are nought but rumours, I can assure you," Georg muttered, eliciting another chorus of laughter from the colonel.

"I love rumours!" the man exclaimed, clapping his hands together with a flourish, "Facts can be so misleading, where rumours, true or false, are often revealing..."

Before Georg even had time to make sense of the semantics behind such a bizarre statement, the colonel was already halfway through his next sentence.

"- but alas, here I am so _rudely_ prattling away when there's an entire dance floor of guests I am yet to individually greet. Come!" He insisted, gesturing towards the opulent double doors that led to the ballroom.

Left with little choice but to fall into step behind him, Georg followed the colonel with calculated slowness, entirely too distracted by the presence of this mysterious new foe to notice that Max was repeatedly hissing his name in an attempt to garner his attention. When the impresario resorted to tugging impatiently on his sleeve, Georg slapped his hand away as though he was being pursued by a pick-pocketing criminal.

" _Behave yourself_!" Georg mouthed, all too aware of Landa's proximity.

"But-"

"Shh!"

"Welcome gentlemen," Landa gestured through the doorway once they'd reached the ballroom, "do make yourselves at home. Oh, and a word to the wise- " he tapped his nose with a wink, "watch how you go with Goebbels. The old dog's had one too many!"

Bowing his head in farewell, Landa was soon lost to the endless sea of ball gowns and tailcoats that formed the majority of Salzburg's elite. Georg scanned the elegant surroundings in cold dread, wondering just how many of these traitors would happily exchange their homeland for another bottle of Dom Perignon.

"Georg.." Max's voice echoed faintly from somewhere beside him.

The whole affair screamed of unapologetic wealth - the six magnificent chandeliers hanging majestically from the gold-leafed ceiling, the waiters with silver trays weaving in and out of the crowd, the fifteen-man orchestra playing music he'd never heard of, the pocket watches, the pearls, the tiaras, the crystal, the perfume and lipstick and cigars and liquor. How could a world so full of material possessions seem so thoroughly _empty_?

"Georg-"

And of course, there was the inevitable display of the Swastika - hanging like an almighty tapestry from the far wall, taunting him in much the same way as the wicked gleam hidden in Landa's smile.

"Georg!"

And although he'd prepared himself for it, had known the evening would reek of the impending Anschluss and the end of his homeland, he didn't think anything could make him feel quite so sick. That was, until he spotted the familiar halo of golden hair...

His champagne flute went crashing to the floor.

" _Ohhhhhh_ boy..." Max breathed - but Georg could hear nothing above the rush of blood pounding in his ears. It was possible, he reasoned, that his mind was playing tricks on him... it wouldn't be the first time since she'd left him that he'd conjured her up as a figment of his imagination, usually in a half-drunken stupor. She was far away after all - on the other side of the ballroom in fact. But really there was no mistaking that porcelain face, that glow of hair, those sapphire eyes - pure and real in a room of otherwise empty faces.

She was chatting with an elderly gentleman in the far corner, smiling radiantly - the slender curve of her neck and the gentle waves of her hair giving her an ethereal beauty. A stunning, floor length dress of a deep red hue clung to every curve of her figure, the backless number exposing elegant swathes of silken skin that he hadn't had the pleasure of touching in over a month - and the effect on his mind and body was immediate, alarming, overwhelming. He could do little else than stare, stunned, his mouth agape and his fists clenched - until she turned gracefully, her eyes landing on the two gentlemen appraising her from the doorway.

Her smile faltered as soon as she spotted him, the colour draining from her cheeks, but she recovered quickly - and suddenly Georg felt as though the floor was bottoming out beneath him. She was so breathtaking that he couldn't move. Even the comforting weight of Max's hand anchored to his shoulder - grounding him, steadying him - couldn't break him from his living nightmare.

"What is she _doing here_.." he managed to rasp, his voice a strangled whisper.

"I tried to tell you..." the impresario murmured gravely - but Georg wasn't listening. Instead he watched in silent horror as colonel Landa appeared out of the throng, moving to Maria's side and snaking a hand around her waist, whispering something intimately into the shell of her ear. Georg's shock was instant, his sudden turmoil crushing - and his heart turned over in his chest at the guilty look that his wife cast at him. It was a look peppered with shame, with pity, with discomfort - a look that turned him to ashes.

 _"No_.." he heard himself choke in disbelief - though it felt as though he'd shouted the word, so stricken was the resulting gaze they shared. It lasted for only a second however, before she seemed to remember herself, tearing her eyes away from him... turning into the waiting arms of the colonel.

* * *

 **A/N: I know, I know – WHAT IS GOING ON?! But stick with me on this one. The line about rumours and 'I tease rough' are taken directly from Quentin Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds – I own nothing etc etc**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Speeding through these updates at the mo so I'll try and keep up the pace! As always, your thoughts mean the world so thank you!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX: THE CONFRONTATION**

" _I tried to tell you..." the impresario murmured gravely - but Georg wasn't listening. Instead he watched in silent horror as colonel Landa appeared out of the throng, moving to Maria's side and snaking a hand around her waist, whispering something intimately into the shell of her ear. Georg's shock was instant, his sudden turmoil crushing - and his heart turned over in his chest at the guilty look that his wife cast at him. It was a look peppered with shame, with pity, with discomfort - a look that turned him to ashes._

" _No.." he heard himself choke in disbelief - though it felt as though he'd shouted the word, so stricken was the resulting gaze they shared. It lasted for only a second however, before she seemed to remember herself, tearing her eyes away from him... turning into the waiting arms of the colonel._

Despair quickly morphed into rage.

"That Nazi _bastard_!" he snarled, his feet moving before his brain had a chance to catch up - acting purely on the urgent desire to ram the colonel's head into the nearest wall.

"Georg, _don't_!" Max hissed, anchoring an arm of steel across his chest to hold him back, "you can't make a scene! Not here.."

Red with fury but unable to dispute such a statement, Georg wrenched out of his friend's grip and straightened his jacket, running a hand through his hair, "how could she?" He spat venomously, fists clenching into rocks at his sides, " _how could she_! Doesn't she know who he _is_?!"

As if it wasn't enough that she'd decided to end their marriage - now she was spending her spare time frolicking around with another man only four weeks after his departure? Not only another man, but a _Nazi colonel_? It defied all reasonable logic, it stretched beyond the realms of possibility, it contradicted everything he'd ever known and loved about this woman. But then again, he thought grimly - perhaps he'd never really known her at all.

"Apparently they've been spending quite a bit of time together," the impresario revealed solemnly, "I would've told you sooner, but I swear Georg, I had no idea..."

His stomach twisting in revulsion and undeniable jealousy, Georg watched helplessly as Landa took Maria's gloved hand in his and swept her onto the dance floor. Even in his lowest moments - in the middle of the night when he would wake in a sweat shouting her name - never could he have envisaged that _this_ would be their reality. The colonel was the type of man that surely would've repulsed the Maria he knew! None of it made any common sense.

Unable to comprehend what he was seeing, he simply shook his head in sheer incredulity, "this is madness," he growled, turning to the impresario, "utter _madness_! I have to talk to her..."

"I'm not sure that'd be wise..." Max warned, adding hopefully, "why don't we just get tiddled and put it on Landa's room tab instead? Maybe key his car?"

But his suggestions went entirely unheeded. The second the orchestra's ballad drew to a close, Georg traced his wife's every move with the predatory eye of a hawk - until he saw her slip behind a rippling curtain at the far end of the room, out onto the open terrace beyond. Seeing his opportunity, he immediately broke into a march across the dance floor, completely ignoring the impresario's desperate attempts to restrain him. Pushing impatiently through the throng like a man posessed, he gave very little regard for the dozens of guests he happened to barge out of the way in his pursuit. A countess here, a baron there, a waiter or two who had to scramble to keep their tray of hors d'oeuvres balanced on gloved palms as Captain Von Trapp of the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Navy parted the crowd like the Red Sea.

Reaching the curtain and tearing it to one side, he found her alone with her back to him, leaning against the balustrade and gazing pensively into the darkness of the grounds beyond. Unaware of his sudden presence, she didn't turn around - and so he stood there for a moment, allowing himself the small transgression of simply looking at her. His wife. His partner. His _everything_ \- even after the tumultuous events of the past few weeks. It was simply impossible to hate her.

Filling his lungs with air, he drank in the sight of her, long legs draped in silk, the slender curve of her back, the golden curls at the nape of her neck - and his heart ached with longing. It was a fierce kind of need that gripped him, the type that would normally have him clamping his lips to the delicate patch of skin where throat met shoulder, twining his arms around her front and moulding the length of his body to hers. His fingers twitched with the desire to touch her, to pull her into his arms and beg her to put an end to his suffering. To kiss her, to hold her and yes, even to ravish her - in a way that only a husband could his wife. Despite everything that had come to pass, he couldn't deny that he still pined for her like he needed oxygen to breathe - and if only for a moment, the longing assuaged the anger.

A breeze swept the terrace then and with it, he felt his resolve dissipate into the night. She gave a light shiver against the chill of the air and instinctively he shed his jacket, moving as close as he dared before wrapping it around her bare shoulders, being careful not to touch her. She hugged the garment around herself, smiling out onto the gardens.

"Thank you Han-"

" _Do not speak his name to me_ ," Georg strangled, his low whisper cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. Alarmed by the familiar baritone, she spun around on the spot, her face white as a sheet.

"Georg!"

"When were you going to tell me?" He asked quietly, bile rising in his throat, ignoring the tremble that he noticed in her lower lip. Gathering her bravery, she lifted her chin in challenge - though he saw right through the feeble facade.

"I didn't think it was any of your business!" She bristled haughtily.

"Our divorce papers haven't even been finalised yet!" He snapped, barely recognising her for the coldness in her eyes.

"And whose fault is that?!" She bit back sharply - both of them knowing all too well that the papers she'd sent him were laying forgotten somewhere amidst the mess of his hotel suite. He'd meant to sign them, really he had - but every time he'd picked up a pen his hand had trembled too vigorously to be of any use, and he'd ended up throwing the stationary across the room instead.

Ignoring her rebuttal, he took a furious step closer, the atmosphere pulsing with the restrained anger that he thought had disappeared with the wind.

"And where are the children while their mother spends her nights gallivanting around town like a _common_ -"

"I have not been _gallivanting around_!" She hissed, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder into the ballroom behind him to ensure they weren't being overheard. He was far past the point of caring however.

"What do you call it then?" He spat desperately, "making new friends?"

She said nothing, avoiding his interrogative gaze, eyes shifting to the floor in an attempt to dodge his scrutiny. There was something in her nervous expression that shifted, something that made him take pause.

"Has he forced himself upon you?" He growled, taking another step closer, fury prickling his skin, "because if he has, I _swear_ I'll snap his-"

"Oh I should've guessed!" she scoffed sardonically, her previous defiance back in full force, "it would be simply incomprehensible to you that I might actually _welcome_ another man's affections!"

Shock and dismay seeped into his veins like molten lava spilling down a rocky terrain. Another man's affections? She wasn't even trying to deny it! With his worst fears confirmed, his stomach roiled and his head spun with grief, outrage, envy...

"Can you blame me for refusing to accept this display of absolute _insanity_?!" he raged, beginning to prowl the length of the balcony like a caged panther.

She gaped at him in disbelief, "You _arrogant_... " she trailed, "He has forced me into nothing! We met at the Becker's dinner party earlier this month-"

"Are you aware of who he is?" Georg hissed, rounding on her with his full height, as though it might actually intimidate her, "Of what he _does_?!"

"Of course I am!"

"Then how can you live with yourself?!" He demanded, loud enough for the whole of Salzburg to hear.

"Keep your voice down!"

His lips curled into a bitter sneer.

"Are you afraid I might embarrass you?"

"It's far too late for that!" Came her biting retort, "As for what he does, we don't discuss his work. Precisely because it doesn't define him," she shot him a scathing look, "Some men are more than their uniforms, _Captain_!"

With that, she turned her back on him and looked out over the gardens again, as if that marked the end of the conversation. _He_ thought otherwise.

" _Some_ men want to watch the world burn!" he snarled at the back of her head - and it must've struck the desired nerve, for she rounded on him faster than she had done by the lakeside all those years ago.

"What makes you any better?!" she challenged with eyes burning, prodding a sharp finger into his chest, "If the shoe was on the other foot, and God forbid, you found yourself in their uniform when war broke you, would you consider yourself inherently evil?!"

"I would _never_ fight alongside them!" He argued fiercely.

"In that case you'd choose to fight _against_ them!" She countered, "Some of them would be your own countrymen, some not much older than Friedrich!" Would you consider yourself evil then?"

He said nothing, his throat working furiously, face twisted with bitter anger.

"You killed hundreds of people for the sake of your beloved empire," she continued passionately, "What makes you morally superior? He is made of flesh and blood, just as you are! But one fact _does_ differentiate you," she revealed venomously, "his job is exactly that - a _job_. Which is more than I could ever say for _you_!"

She sent him stumbling backwards with a final shove to his chest and he simply stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Who _are_ you?" he rasped, "you've been brainwashed. Utterly brainwashed."

"No," was her fierce retort, "I'm seeing things perfectly clearly! You pass judgement, even when you understand nothing of a person's convictions, his beliefs, his views... " she shook her head in disappointment, "you see only the uniform."

Shaken to the core, his hands trembled with unrelenting rage.

"I dare say you've seen a damn sight more than only the uniform," he boomed, "More specifically, what's _underneath_ it!"

Taking him completely by surprise, she bared her teeth in a lioness's growl and raised a hand above her head as if to slap him. On impulse, he straightened, ready to welcome the sobering sting of the deserved blow - but she was interrupted by the untimely arrival of the last man in the world that Georg wished to see.

"Maria darling, is everything alright?" Landa enquired curiously, stepping out onto the terrace and taking his place protectively by her side. She nodded quickly with eyes downcast, offering no words to the contrary. Apparently satisfied with her answer, the colonel turned to Georg instead, his face breaking into a devilish grin.

"I boasted of being a detective before captain, but I confess that it is _you_ who has caught _me_ red-handed!" he chuckled wickedly, "most of my learnings about you were sourced from Maria here," he tightened his arm securely around her waist.

"Is that so," Georg gritted, desperately attempting to stand firm in favour of his pride.

"It's nothing personal, I can assure you," the colonel reiterated graciously, casting a triumphant glance at the woman by his side, "Just think of it as the better man having won. You sound like an individual of impeccable standing however - and I'm normally an excellent judge of character," he added proudly, "I'm sure the Fuhrer would be _very_ interested to make your acquaintance, in fact."

Offering a strained smile, Georg simply shook his head, "I fear I wouldn't _quite_ meet the Fuhrer's expectations.."

Smirking knowingly, the colonel appraised him for long seconds, the silence stretching on, unbearable in its intensity, until-

"You know captain," he began, with the playful lilt of an animated storyteller, "if one were to determine what attribute the German people share with a beast, it would be the cunning and the predatory instinct of a hawk. It is also the case with the likes of men of rank, such as you and I - though we have not a drop of German blood running through our veins," he waved the point away impatiently as though it was of little consequence.

"Now," he continued, "if one were to determine what attributes the _Austrian_ population shares with a beast - you and I aside, of course - it would be that of a sheep. Easily persuaded by flock mentality, led mindlessly adrift by promises of protection and reward, and in desperate need of a shepherd to guide them," he listed these facts with casual flippancy, before his entire face suddenly darkened with shadow, his tone shifting dangerously, "I am a _shepherd_ , Captain - just as you are. Whether we like it or not, we were _born_ shepherds, where they-" he gave a jut of his strong chin towards the ballroom, "-were born sheep. Men like us must guide the weak, even against their own better judgement."

Georg held his piercing stare, refusing to let such disturbing words affect him, "I have faith they'll choose the right path," he stated meaningfully.

Landa's eyes flashed with gleeful triumph once again, "as do I..."

With a curt nod, Georg made to leave.

"Captain?"

He halted in his tracks.

"Colonel?"

"Next week, I'm having a little get together with some of the gentlemen in attendance here tonight," Landa purred charmingly, all darkness having vanished from his face, "I'd be honoured if you'd join us. It would be an opportunity for you to meet some of my acquaintances here in Salzburg, and for the both of us to set aside our differences. Or should I say... _similarities_?!" he guffawed, pulling Maria emphatically closer to his side, "After all, we may be sharing a new flag soon enough!"

His wife, his flag - was there anything else this man wanted to snatch from him, Georg wondered. Forcing a courteous smile that he imagined must've looked more like a grimace, he inclined his head in acknowledgment of the offer.

"I'll be sure to clear my busy schedule."

Again he turned to leave, resisting the urge to break into a run, when-

"Geor... uh, Captain?" Maria bleated after him. Gritting his teeth, he turned rigidly to find her holding out his forgotten jacket, her shoulders bare once again. Reaching impatiently for the garment, he was rendered momentarily paralysed when he caught Landa running a single finger down the length of her arm. She shivered at his touch, clearly affected - and Georg was hit by a violent wave of distress. Snatching the coat from her outstretched fingers, he turned on his heel and fled the terrace, before he relinquished the last of his control and throttled the host to within an inch of his life.

The next morning, he signed and filed the divorce papers.

* * *

 **A/N: Some of you have made some interesting predictions. I guess we'll have to wait and see! Again, some of Landa's quotes have been modified from the script of Quentin Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds - I own nothing, all for fun etc etc**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: as always, thank you for your reviews. I understand it's all rather AU and Maria is very OOC right now - she's contradicting herself, she's affiliating with Nazis, she's keeping quiet - but that's kind of the whole point in this story. It will all become clear, I promise. I hope you enjoy this update, those of you who are still with me.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN: THE PLANS**

After drinking more than was deemed socially acceptable and having to be escorted back to his hotel room by a fuming impresario, Georg had left The Goldener vowing furiously that he'd never cross Landa's threshold again - at least not without murderous intent. Of course, it was impossible to keep such a promise because the colonel's dinner invitation still hung in the air like the smell of rotting flesh. And he had every intention of attending, not least because he wanted to save face, but also because he was absolutely convinced that something absurd was going on under his very nose.

He simply refused to believe that Maria was acting of her own free will! From the earliest days of their acquaintance, she'd been a spitfire, defiant in the face of even the most basic household rules - and yet he'd never once questioned the integrity of her character. Young and naive in many ways and yet incredibly wise in others, she'd taught him more than just a thing or two about his own shortcomings, not just as a father, but as a person blinded by grief. It had taken him no more than a few weeks to realise she was probably the kindest, warmest, purest individual to ever cross his path - but that she was also a woman of fierce and unshakeable principles, a woman who was not so easily influenced. To envisage a person so gentle and simultaneously headstrong in the arms of a Nazi colonel not only made him want to retch, it seemed entirely _incomprehensible_.

Even if he _hadn't_ felt compelled to get to the bottom of the suspicious circumstances, his pride still would've forced him to attend the colonel's godforsaken dinner anyhow. Intimidation was not something Georg von Trapp was used to - and he wasn't about to let a Nazi rat make an example of him. With decades of military training and with subsequent years spent as a highly-respected naval commander, he was more than accustomed to having his every will fulfilled without question - not just by his own crewmen but, more often than not, by the enemy as well. The colonel however, was no ordinary enemy. And this was no ordinary attack. This time, it was personal.

Never before had Georg's professional life collided so drastically with his private affairs. During his long stints out at sea fighting for his country, his approach to the enemy had always been born out of logic and strategy - emotion had never had anything to do with it. Agathe and the children had remained at home, safely ensconced in the villa in which he'd left them. And he had always returned home safe in the knowledge that he'd be welcomed with open arms, reunited with his family until the day he'd be summoned on the next mission once again. Now however, it was impossible to separate the logic from the emotion. For the first time in his life, the enemy was in his backyard, the weapon of choice was his soon-to-be ex-wife, and every tongue in Salzburg was flapping at his expense.

The Goldener somehow seemed less striking when he arrived there for the second time in less than a fortnight. But then again, this repeat visit didn't smack of tuxedos, ball gowns, digestifs, or clouds of sickly perfume. If anything, the place seemed underwhelming now that it reeked of betrayal instead. Leaving his coat with the bellboy, he made his way to the hotel's lounge, which - of course - had been privately hired just for the occasion. It had once been his favourite place to unwind after a long day of conducting business in town - and Maria had loved it too, mostly for the relaxing ambience, the friendly staff and - perhaps most importantly - the majestic grand piano that sat in the far corner of the room. On the odd occasion that the lounge was empty, he'd let his fingers toy with ivory keys until Maria's face had positively lit up.

 _Now_ , when he crossed the threshold still lost in painful memories, all he could see was Nazis. Nazis infecting every corner of the room with their cigar smoke, tumblers of whiskey, harsh dialect and threatening uniforms. The grand piano was still in its rightful place, but it lay forgotten under a sheet - and he fought the urge to storm across the room, rip the offending fabric from the instrument and play an Austrian folk song as enthusiastically as his tired fingers would allow. Enough food to satisfy a small army covered the length of the table - meats of every kind, cheeses, bread, vegetables, potatoes - and this was just the appetiser. Despite the ridiculous amount of treats on display, no one was sat at the table yet, choosing instead to take comfort in the opulent sofas and armchairs that lined the rest of the room, barking and snarling and growling amongst themselves like wolves at a tea party.

Casting a watchful eye about the room, he didn't see many faces that he actually recognised. There was Landa of course. Then was Zeller - and another man he'd met at the party who went by the name of Muller. There was his associate Fischer - then Schneider, Wagner and Hermann - all of them renowned members of the Austrian National Socialist Party, men Georg normally avoided at all costs. And among the wolves was sat... Georg did a double take, his eyes widening. It was none other than Maximilian Detweiler.

"Ah Captain!" Landa spotted him lurking in the doorway, spreading his arms wide in welcome, "so glad you could make it!"

At the mention of Georg's formal designation, the impresario's head snapped to attention and their eyes locked instantaneously. Rather than looking sheepish however - as Georg might've expected him to after having been caught in the middle of a Nazi rendezvous - Max simply rolled his eyes, as though Georg's untimely arrival was about to cause him unimaginable inconvenience.

"Come, come!" Landa beckoned, leading him into the group and planting a tumbler firmly in his fist as he made the necessary introductions. For a man who'd so scathingly referred to his Austrian guests as sheep not one week ago, he played the part of charming host remarkably well. Before long however, it became painfully obvious to Georg that the colonel had invited him to this circus not to form an allegiance, but purely to taunt him - just as he'd suspected.

"How do we know each other?" Landa grinned wolfishly when somebody asked, "Well, let's just say I came across a _possession_ of his that I'm yet to return!"

When another guest asked about their home towns...

"Do we hail from the same parts? No, no. Though we do share the same _tastes_!"

And when somebody pledged allegiance to the Swastika..

"A Reich without allies is simply obsolete. Much like a sea Captain without a _navy_..."

Such provocation continued throughout the evening, until Georg rather felt like using his tumbler to knock the gleaming teeth from the colonel's smug grin. But he held his tongue firmly, using all the willpower he possessed to keep his seething anger in check. It wouldn't do to forget the role he'd assigned himself for the evening - he was supposed to be convincing Landa that he was a man of _vision_ , a supporter of the Anschluss, a man seriously considering a career in Hitler's _Kriegsmarine_ despite having been jilted by his wife in favour of an SS colonel.

To his immense relief, when they all sat down to eat there was just enough people seated around the table to provide a much-needed buffer between himself and Landa. In any event, he was occupied with more important matters - namely, the question of _what_ , exactly, Max Detweiler was doing there.

"Let me guess..." He hissed sardonically through the side of his mouth at the impresario, seated to his left, "John sent you."

"And let me guess," Max retorted under his breath, poking at his steak with a fork, "you sent _yourself_!"

"So what if I did?"

"If John wanted you here," the impresario pointed out, "he would've sent you."

Georg scoffed, "Why he sent _you_ is beyond even _my_ comprehension!"

"You're in no fit state to be trusted, given the circumstan-"

"No fit state?!" Georg spat, "I'm absolutely fine."

"Apart from the drinking and the jealousy and the estranged wife who just _so happens_ to be romantically involved with-"

"Okay okay!" Georg gritted, "You've made your point!"

"Just _stop_ meddling," Max warned, "You're getting in the way."

Georg frowned in confusion.

"Getting in the way of wha-"

But the rest of his sentence was lost to a yelp of pain as Max stabbed his fork sharply into the centre of Georg's hand in a bid to silence him. Ripping his head up in confrontation, Georg opened his mouth to yell a series of obscenities at the impresario, but the words caught in his throat when he realised that Landa was watching their altercation from across the table, eyes narrowed in curious amusement.

"Err.. we were just discussing the day we met," Georg lied through his teeth, nursing his sore hand, "Many years ago at the-"

"-Royal Naval Academy in Fiume, yes I know," Landa interjected with a smirk, "a rather _archaic_ institution nowadays of course.."

Affronted, Georg scowled, opening his mouth to retort - but Max beat him to it.

"Best and worst days of my life, serving in the armed forces!" the impresario declared jovially, in an obvious attempt to ease the mounting tension, "best for adventure, worst for labour!"

"Well it takes discipline, determination and thick skin," the moustachioed man named Fischer bristled, evidently implying that Max possessed none of these attributes.

"Right you are!" the impresario beamed, oblivious to the barb, "And the Austro-Hungarian navy consisted of some of the most determined, disciplined, thick-skinned young men in the entire world. Why, just look at the captain here - " he clapped a hand onto Georg's shoulder and Georg immediately stiffened, "decorated by the Emperor on more than one occasion for bravery in combat!"

"How... _impressive_ ," Landa drawled, his own medals gleaming under the light of the chandelier, "when the Anschluss occurs, I'll see to it that you're called straight to Bremerhaven, Captain."

"What an honour!" Muller chorused, to the general agreement of the rest of the room.

Having heard quite enough, Georg pushed his chair back with a deafening scrape, rising from his seat before he even knew he was moving.

"Forgive me," he gritted, throwing his serviette onto his chair, "I need to make a quick phone call to uh... enquire after my children."

"Ah yes," Landa purred to the rest of the table, "there are _seven_ of the little dears, would you believe!"

Georg didn't stay long enough to hear the customary reaction - " _seven_?!" - before he stormed from the room, anger churning like cement in his stomach. It was incredibly unsettling, to have a man who remained so successfully off-grid knowing every little detail about him and his family. And what of John Whitehead and his incessant need to keep his son-in-law in the dark? Now that he'd stepped away from the cognac for long enough to think, it was becoming painfully obvious to Georg that there was no such thing as a coincidence where Hans Landa was concerned. Everything had to be linked somehow - Max, Maria, Landa, John.

 _John_...

But John wouldn't... would he? Georg's head swam with the possibilities, and suddenly it was difficult to draw breath. Marching through the lobby with every intention of finding himself another drink to ease his frayed nerves, he halted in his tracks beside the reception desk, spotting the line of room keys hanging innocently from their assigned pegs. Almost immediately, an idea sparked to life like scorched kindling in his mind. Could he...? It was possible... it wouldn't take him longer than five minutes. Surely he wouldn't be missed...

Making a snap decision, he darted behind the desk while the clerk was busy attending to a new arrival, snatching up the key to the executive suite. It was a long shot - he had no idea which room was Landa's - but he'd wager a man who held himself in such high esteem would opt for the best accommodation available. Taking the stairs two at a time and slipping into the suite undetected, it didn't take him long to confirm that his assumptions had been correct. The uniform cap with the _Totenkopf_ skull emblem resting atop the bedside table left very little room for doubt.

Knowing he had precious little time, he set to work - pulling open drawers, turning over cushions, feeling behind book shelves for anything that might be of use to him - until finally, he came across a leather binder marked with the revolting imprint of the Swastika. Tearing the artefact open, he discovered a series of complex floor plans - documents he couldn't make any sense of at first. After further scrutiny however, he suspected that they might be prison blueprints. It wasn't entirely clear - but what made him take pause was the little note scrawled in spidery handwriting at the top of the document.

" _The Final Solution"_ it read.

And then, with a scribbled arrow and a suggestion pointing to one of the larger plots on the map-

" _Carbon monoxide?"_

An uneasy tightening curdled Georg's stomach. Taking a closer look, he saw that a different geographical location marked each document and written in every left corner was an associated number - which he imagined was a headcount. Whatever these plans were, they were twisted and sinister and corrupt in a way that seemed to sap all life from the room. They spoke of untold misery, decay, death and destruction - even while they were little more than mysterious sketches on crisp parchment. Moving quickly, he yanked the handkerchief from his breast pocket and traced a rough outline of one of the plans using a pencil from Landa's desk, before pocketing the fabric again.

Within two minutes he'd managed to return the documents to their hiding place, leaving the door locked behind him as he stalked - quick as a cat - back to the safety of the elevator. As soon as he started his descent back to the lobby, he heaved a sigh of relief - only to abruptly choke on it again when the doors slid open on the ground floor to reveal-

"Maria?!"

His wife let out a shriek of alarm - clearly not expecting to find her estranged husband on the other side of the threshold.

"Shhh!" He hissed frantically, grabbing her wrist in a panic and pulling her into the elevator before she gave him away.

"What are you _doing here_?!" She demanded, as the elevator doors slotted closed behind them.

"No, no, no!" came his petulant retort, "What are _you_ doing here?!"

"I'm waiting for Hans!"

"Waiting for him _where_?" Georg demanded, dread coiling around his heart like poison ivy, "in his suite?"

Her eyes narrowed at the obvious insinuation, "That's none of your-"

" _Business_. I know," he spat.

"Good! I'm glad you finally-"

Quite without warning, the elevator gave a jubilant _ding_ and the doors slid open to reveal an elderly couple on the third floor who began to shuffle their way into-

"Out of order!" Georg declared, jabbing his thumb into the closure button until the doors slammed shut and they were alone once again.

"Well that was rude!" Maria chastised, but Georg wasn't listening.

"There's no time for that. Not now," he griped impatiently, "I _really_ need to talk to you about-"

But before he could finish his sentence the elevator dinged once again and they found themselves back on the ground floor. As soon as the doors opened, Maria wasted no time in putting some distance between them, flouncing out into the lobby with her head held high in defiance. Livid, Georg hurtled after her - only to slow his pace when he noticed Landa's cronies, Fischer and Müller, lurking by the bar.

"Maria, _wait_!" He hissed, managing to pull her back just in time, "I'm coming to the villa first thing tomorrow morning," he warned, "we can talk then.."

She gave a roll of her eyes, though her distress was obvious, "Georg, you _really_ need to just leave me be..."

"Maria, _please_ \- just trust me on this one," he gritted, all too aware of Fischer and Muller's proximity, "there's no time to explain now. But there's something important I need to tell you."

* * *

 **A/N: a couple of lines from the dinner party scene were taken from my other story 'Water Under the Bridge'. Next update to follow soon!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: We're getting there slowly, I hope you enjoy this latest update! Please forgive me any historical inaccuracies.**

 **Just a quick note - thank you to Emily for defending me (and herself) against the accusation that I self-review my own stories. It's simply not true, but I guess everyone's entitled to their opinion.**

 **To those who've been far kinder with their words, thank you - I'm finishing this story because I hope you're still getting some enjoyment out of it.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER EIGHT: THE LOOK**

For the first time since checking in at the Bristol, Georg actually slept in the suite's four-poster bed. He awoke with the sun the next morning feeling rested and turned on the radio on the bedside table, stretching lazily across the sheets as the first of the day's light cast striped beams over the room. It was September 6, 1938 - a day he would never forget for the rest of his life. He listened to the presenter across the crackly wire as his heart turned to stone.

It was official. The Anschluss had come.

He waited for the despair to spread its poison through his veins, waited for his lungs to fill with tar. But instead, he felt only a vast emptiness - almost as though there wasn't enough of his heart left to hurt. He lay there motionless, numb. The rumours of an annexation had long since morphed into fact, becoming a case of _when_ rather than _if_. Hitler had inflicted enough violence and manipulation throughout the country to enforce a union between Germany and Austria long before now. But even so, Georg had held out hope that his homeland would not fail it's people.

Hope, it seemed, had been futile in the end. His beautiful Austria, the country for which he'd fought so fiercely, the country in which he'd raised his seven children, the country for which he held the deepest patriotic love - this country was to be engulfed into the decimated cocoon of a madman's regime. He'd known it was inevitable, he'd known it would eventually happen - and yet he hadn't wanted to believe it.

Staring unseeingly into the fireplace, he found himself at a crossroads, torn between two fundamental choices. With the Anschluss came the possibility of being called upon for duty - and with that came an even more uncertain future for his broken family. Maria could very well have been right; he might be forced into their uniform after all. And he could choose to accept such a destiny, wallowing in self-pity with nothing but a half-empty bottle of cognac for comfort. _Or_ , he could choose to take immediate action...

Within half a second he'd decided his own fate.

Scrambling from bed and dressing quickly, the sun barely having risen, he hurried downstairs and out to his car. Save for a few early risers, the roads were clear, silent, peaceful - as if it was just any other ordinary day. As if there was no imminent threat of warfare. When he finally got to the villa, all was quiet - and he was grateful that it was Frau Schmidt, rather than Franz, who opened the door for him.

"Captain!" the housekeeper greeted in surprise, clearly not expecting him at this early hour. Nevertheless she stepped aside instantly to let him in, "the children aren't yet out of bed I'm afraid.."

"Not to worry Frau Schmidt, I wouldn't want to disturb them just yet anyhow," he replied in hushed tones, stepping across the threshold and drinking in the sight of his home. Everything was exactly as he'd left it - and yet so much had changed.

"Is the baroness.. uhh.. " he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "the _Fraulein_.. available?"

The housekeeper regarded him curiously but her expression remained warm as she gave him a sympathetic smile, "I'll enquire after her sir."

"Thank you... " he nodded gratefully, "I'll be waiting in the study."

He turned to leave but she called after him.

"Sir?"

"Yes Frau Schmidt?"

With the pensive eyes of a mother, the woman regarded him for long seconds, "I do hope you're well," she offered meaningfully, "If you'll forgive me for saying so."

Moved by her sincerity, he gave her a wistful smile and placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder, "thank you Brigitte. Truly."

Nodding kindly, the housekeeper hurried off in the direction of the stairs while Georg made his way to the study. His sanctuary hadn't changed much either, save for a few of his papers and other belongings having been tidied away. Casting his eyes about the room wistfully, he realised he hadn't missed it one bit. It was rather cold and dark in retrospect - a place he'd spent many a lonely hour locked away from his family with nothing but blueprints to distract him. Hardly a sanctuary at all...

Moving closer to the desk, a small piece of paper suddenly caught his eye atop the rich mahogany and upon closer inspection, he realised it was a telegram. Suspicion coiling his stomach, he snatched the note up hurriedly, scanning the words with frantic eyes before Maria could catch him in the act.

 _Mauthausen-Gusen Linzerstraße. Meeting 09.00. 06.11.38._

The next sentence stopped his heart cold.

 _The Final Solution._

Surely it couldn't be...

Hands trembling, he wasted no time in jumping to action. Darting around the desk, he wrenched the phone off the hook, booming his request at rapid speed for the bewildered operator on the other end of the line. He knew John Whitehead's number off by heart - whether the man would pick up however, was another matter entirely. Time seemed to stretch past at a glacial pace, the monotonous chirp of the ringtone in his ear threatening to send him out of his mind. Eventually, to his utter relief, there was the sound of someone picking up at the other end.

"Whitehead residence?" he recognised the demure British tone instantly as belonging to the Whitehead's housekeeper.

"Charlotte, it's Captain von Trapp!" he fired in perfect English, no time for formalities, "I need to speak to Lord Whitehead, it's a matter of urgency."

"I do apologise Captain but the master isn't home," Charlotte revealed, somewhat alarmed.

Georg squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, "do you know where he might be?"

There was silence at the end of the line as the housekeeper hesitated.

"It's an emergency."

Eventually she conceded, "I believe he's out of the country sir. I'm afraid that's all I know. Should I fetch Lady White-?"

"No, no," he interrupted hastily. The last thing he wanted was to involve Agathe's mother in all of this, "I'll try again later in the week. Thank you Charlotte."

"Very well sir."

Slamming the phone down, he paced the room restlessly, his mind working at a million miles a minute. The telegram mentioned Mauthausen - a small town about an hour outside of Salzburg. It was also one of the geographical locations he'd found scrawled on the documents in Landa's suite. What the telegram was doing in _Maria's_ possession however, remained a mystery to him. Either she was involved in Landa's Nazi plot, or it was a set of allusive instructions from John. The former possibility was too disturbing to contemplate and the latter... well the latter sent flames of fury erupting in his chest, for it would mean that his father-in-law was responsible for everything.

Frantically, he read the telegram over again.

 _Meeting 09.00. 06.11.38._

If there was a meeting of great significance due to take place at Mauthausen-Gusen Linzerstraße on the very same morning as the Anschluss, John would surely know about it, Georg reasoned. Was his father-in-law planning on sending Maria into the lion's den to extract information? Or was it Landa who had summoned her to Mauthausen? With no possibility of tracking down John, there was little hope of uncovering the truth. Unless of course, he chose to confront...

As though his thoughts had summoned her, Maria appeared in the doorway quite without warning - and Georg stuffed the telegram hastily into his pocket before she could catch him in the act. His wife... _ex_ -wife - he wasn't even sure how to refer to her anymore - eyed him curiously, hesitant and poised in her demeanour, as though she thought he might pounce at any moment.

"Hello Georg."

"So it's _Georg_ again now is it?" He replied quietly.

"When we're not in polite company, yes."

"I would hardly call _him_ polite," he muttered, unable at that particular moment to voice Landa's name.

The rest of the breath in Maria's lungs seemed to leave her body in a sigh of defeat.

"If you came here to pick a fight with me I'm afraid I just _don't_ have the strength-"

"You're right.. I'm sorry," he hastened to offer, not wanting to get into all that when there were more pressing matters to attend to.

She pardoned him with a brief nod, and then wasted no time in getting to the point, "you told me yesterday you have something important you wish to talk to me about?"

Eyeing her warily, he made a snap decision not to mention the plans he'd found in Landa's suite. Not yet. Instead, he chose a different subject, though one that was still just as pressing.

"I uh.. I've been making plans for what to do in the event of an annexation," he explained, fingers twitching, "And now, as I'm sure you know, the Anschluss has come."

He searched her face, looking for any indication of what she might be thinking, but she offered no reaction.

"You understand I'll be called to serve," he added gruffly, the words locking in his throat, "in a matter of weeks - a month at most. There will undoubtedly be a war.."

She said nothing, only nodding again by way of response, her eyes downcast.

"I told you before I would _never_ fight alongside them," he reminded her, "To join them would be unthinkable. But to refuse them will be.. _fatal_. Not just to me, but to the children as well."

"You're going to leave," She murmured matter-of-factly. It was a statement, not a question, "leave Salzburg. Leave Austria."

"Yes," he rasped, before delivering his final blow - the thing he'd dreaded telling her the most, "And the children are coming with me."

He waited for the shock, the outrage, the horror to cloud over her face, waited for the furious protest to tear from her throat - but instead she remained quiet, staring unseeingly at the carpet. Her despondency unnerved him greatly, and he tried to fill the deafening silence with something.. _anything_.. that would illicit a reaction in her.

"Their safety has to come first, Maria..."

Her head snapped up at the sound of her name, as if she'd only just remembered he was there, "Yes of course," she swallowed, struggling to keep her voice even, "of course. I understand. They _can't_ stay here. Not if you.. not when you're.."

She trailed off hopelessly and he found himself suddenly torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to confront her. The telegram and Landa's sketches were burning a hole in his pocket, the interrogation was waiting on his lips: _are you working for John? Are you working for Landa?!_ But for some reason his tongue remained glued to the roof of his mouth. Until he knew more, until he'd had a chance to question his father-in-law, he trusted no one - least of all this woman, whom he barely recognised. There was only one thing for it, he knew. With John missing in action, he would have to go to Mauthausen himself and see with his own eyes what the telegram meant.

"When will you leave?" Maria asked, her voice so unlike her own.

"I'm not sure," he murmured, "soon. I don't have long."

She nodded solemnly, no more words forthcoming.

"What will you do?" He eventually asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Me?" She startled, the question clearly taking her by surprise, "well, I um.. I've actually been meaning to tell you," she fiddled nervously with her skirts, "I've found a teaching position in the city. I'll be moving out in two weeks' time," she offered him a sad smile, "You can have your home back."

It ought to have been good news, he realised - but Georg felt only an empty despair. He didn't give a damn about the villa. She was staying. _Of course_ she was.

"Congratulations," he whispered.

"Thank you..."

Silence engulfed them once again, both of them lost to their own thoughts, until eventually he broke the quietude.

"I'd like to see the children before I go back to the hotel.."

"Yes.." she trailed, her mind elsewhere, "yes, of course."

* * *

The youngest ones were still sound asleep when he made his way into the nursery, but he stroked the hair from their faces nonetheless, crouching beside their beds and murmuring words of love against their brows as Maria watched from the doorway. Kurt and Friedrich snored contentedly in their shared room, though their faces were marked with worry lines - as though even in sleep they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders. Also lost to peaceful slumbers, Brigitta and Louisa didn't stir upon his arrival - but Leisl's eyes fluttered open the second she felt his touch.

"Father?"

"Shhh," he soothed, "go back to sleep, darling."

"I don't want to," Leisl protested, pushing up onto her elbows, "not now that _you're_ here."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug that made him want to weep. His beautiful first-born.

"Does this mean... " She pulled back and looked him in the eye, before her gaze flickered to her mother standing in the doorway, "are you coming home?"

Clearly his daughter was oblivious to her mother's new relationship - or at least, she was oblivious to the _extent_ of the relationship. And Georg was somewhat grateful that Maria had at least had the sense to keep Landa separate from his children.

"No darling," he choked, "I'm just visiting."

"Oh," she couldn't mask her disappointment, "I suppose soon enough, it won't even _be_ our home anymore will it," she murmured, "The Anschluss..."

"I don't want you to worry about any of that," he interrupted fiercely, "do you understand? I'll take care of you. _All_ of you."

Leisl cast another hesitant look in Maria's direction before leaning in to hug her father again. Lips pressed to his ear conspiratorially, she whispered something that made his heart slam in a steady gallop against his ribs. Pulling back, he stared at her, utterly bewildered by her words - but her eyes blazed with determined certainty.

Before he had time to question his eldest daughter further however, the clock on the wall struck 7am and reluctantly, he rose to his feet. He'd need to leave imminently if he was going to have any chance of making it to Mauthausen in time for the meeting. Giving Leisl a final kiss goodbye, he made his way back downstairs, his daughter's whispered words ringing repeatedly in his ears.

" _Mother still loves you. She cries every day..."_

Mulling the startling declaration over in his mind, he hardly noticed when Maria opened the front door for him. Robotically, he made to cross the threshold - only to immediately change his mind, spinning around on the spot to face her.

"Georg?" She questioned, eyes blown wide.

Heart racing, he said nothing, simply staring at her - searching her face for any sign that Leisl might be right: sadness, guilt, desire, fear... _anything_. For twenty years of his career, he'd perfected the skill of extracting information from people with nought but a few words. When Maria had first barrelled into his life, she'd unknowingly worn her heart on her sleeve for him to see. Her every thought and feeling had been obvious in every fleeting glance, in every smile, in every accidental gesture - shining through like a beacon of unwavering light.

It wasn't until they'd danced the Laendler that she'd realised he could read the deepest secrets of her soul through her eyes. After that, she'd tried to veil herself - to close that window to her innermost thoughts, to hide what she felt for him - but it'd been no use. No matter how hard she'd tried, he'd been able to see every one of her truths in the deep blue of her irises. _Now_ however, she seemed to have perfected the art of concealment, for she was looking him dead in the eye while giving nothing away.

His heart sank, ready to give up on her entirely - when suddenly he saw it. The tiniest flicker. The smallest flash of something he recognised but hardly dared to believe. He'd seen it once before - on the day that'd changed their lives forever. The day she'd been brave enough to come back. The day she'd stood at the bottom of the steps surrounded by his children, gazing up at him with _that_ look in her eye. The look of _longing_.

Blood pounding through his veins, he raised his hand on impulse, brushing his fingertips along the curve of her collarbone. He felt, rather than heard her sharp intake of breath - but it wasn't enough to stop him, not when he hadn't touched her in so long that it _hurt_. His fingers turning hot at the feel of her satin skin, he grazed a featherlight trail from her collarbone up to her neck, and felt the erratic thundering of her pulse, watched the unmistakable shudder that gripped her body. Her eyelids threatened to flutter closed as she melted into his touch in a moment of weakness, but he took her chin in his hand and held her gaze firmly.

"This is not the life you were born to live," he rasped, his voice betraying his need, "And you are not who you pretend to be. I know it. _You_ know it. I can see it in your eyes just as I could see it the day you came back to me," his thumb brushed the length of her lower lip, "You can _say_ what you will, you can _do_ what you will - but after everything we've been through my darling, your _eyes_ will always reveal the truth to me."

With that, he let her go, putting some much-needed distance between them before he lost his mind and pulled her into his arms. Unable to bear the sight of her - chest heaving, lips parted, eyes burning with untold turmoil - he turned on his heel and stalked to the car, sending gravel flying in all directions when he sped away from her haunting image.

For the entire journey to Mauthausen, he failed to shake the encounter from his mind - and by the time he arrived in the small town he was hopelessly torn between desire, confusion, and regret at having so hastily signed the divorce papers before uncovering the truth. But with any luck, all would soon become clear - Landa's meeting would help shed some light on the events of the past month and also give Georg the means to expose the colonel for who he truly was.

It seemed however, that luck was not on his side - for the second he stepped out of his car he felt an arm, solid as an iron bar, wrap around his chest from behind while a large hand smothered his nose and mouth with a heavy cloth. He struggled and kicked against his attacker in vain - until his head began to swim, and everything eventually went black.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: thank you again for your feedback! This chapter was good fun to write.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER NINE: THE TRUTH**

When Georg finally came to, he couldn't see a thing - and he realised it was because his kidnappers had covered his head with a bag. All at once, panic gripped him, freezing his heart before sending it slamming against his ribs at twice its normal speed. Blindly he attempted to rise from the chair he was strapped to, only to realise his wrists were bound behind his back.

Immediately his head swam with unpleasant images, vivid thoughts of the pain he would surely suffer at Landa's hand. He'd endured torture once before, had kept his mouth shut despite the agony - and he still remembered the blood-curdling sound of his own screams reverberating off the walls. With his vision compromised, he concentrated on tuning in to every other sense, knowing it might be his only chance of survival.

But he needn't have bothered, for quite without warning the bag was ripped from his head and he was hit by a wave of blinding light. Eyes burning, he growled in protest, blinking through the blur until a dinghy little room with a single table and a couple of chairs came into focus. What held his attention captive however, were the two figures looming over him like vultures eyeing a mouse.

Muller and Fischer stared at their prisoner, their faces a pair of passive masks - and Georg gave a derisive laugh.

"Of course," he sneered with bitter acceptance, "Come on then. Let's get this over with. Where is he?"

Staring bravely at the battered door, he waited for Landa's imminent arrival. And sure enough, there was the sound of booted footsteps approaching - slow, calculated steps meant to instil doubt and fear. Dread churning his insides, Georg held firm, ready to accept whatever fate had in store for him. Nothing however, could've prepared him for the almighty blow that shook through his entire body when it wasn't Landa, but rather his _father-in-law_ , who crossed the threshold.

The resulting silence was deafening as both men locked eyes - before Georg's shock immediately morphed into fury.

"You _bastard_!" he snarled, writhing in vain against the chair he was strapped to - but John merely studied his nails in apparent boredom while he waited for his son-in-law to calm down.

"Are you quite finished?" He remarked coolly once Georg had given up the struggle, "My _sincerest_ apologies for the dramatic kidnapping but you left me with little choice."

"I've been trying to get hold of you myself!" Georg fired back, "But Charlotte told me you were out of the country!"

"And she wasn't wrong," his father-in-law replied, pulling up a nearby chair and taking a seat, "I've been here in Austria. Keeping an eye on _you_!"

"Well your timing couldn't be better," Georg snarled, "because I've got a bone to pick with you!"

"And I you! But since _you're_ the one in a bind-" John eyed the ropes around Georg's wrists pointedly, "- I think _I'll_ be going first."

Baring his teeth in anger, Georg struggled to free himself again but to no avail.

"Untie the man," John instructed Fischer impatiently, "the rope is hardly necessary."

After being cut loose, Georg rubbed his sore wrists, scowling at his father-in-law as the man launched from his seat and started to pace the floor.

"I'm not a patient man Georg, so I'll get straight to the point," he began authoritatively, tugging on his greying beard in agitation, "I don't know what you and Maria think you're playing at with Landa, but you need to get her out of there! I've got my own operation going on and your meddling is threatening to blow everything."

Georg felt as though he'd been doused in cold water.

"Wait.. _what_?"

"When you went off grid, I enlisted my _own_ men- " John gave a jut of his chin towards Muller and Fischer, who stood dutifully close by, "-men I could trust to get the job done without a bottle of cognac lodged in their brains. But if I'd have known you and Maria were carrying out your own little operation, I would've done things differently."

Panic and confusion clashed sickeningly in Georg's stomach, "What the hell are you talking about!"

"This little charade.. " John gestured sweepingly, "the divorce, getting Maria to cosy up with Landa. It's inspired Georg, really it is. But it's dangerous. You've put your own wife in the firing line! You should've _told_ me, I could've offered protection. We could've worked together!"

"Wait wait wait - just stop for one moment!" Georg interrupted, his head swimming while the blood pounded in his ears, "The divorce _wasn't_ your idea?"

John halted his pacing, staring at him blankly.

"Why in God's name would it be _my_ idea? Your private affairs are none of my concern."

"But..." Georg spluttered, dumbfounded,"so Maria _isn't_ working for you?"

His father-in-law looked at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted a second head.

"You're losing the plot, Georg my boy. Like I said, I've got my _own_ men to get the job done."

"Like Max Detweiler, you mean!" Georg remarked scathingly - a feeble attempt to regain the upper hand.

"Max?" John scoffed incredulously, "That boy couldn't keep tabs on a squirrel! I haven't even _spoken_ to Max..."

"But.. " Georg stammered once again, feeling increasingly more shaken, "Max told me that you've enlisted him!"

John's eyebrows shot into his hairline, "Well it sounds as though little Max has been telling quite a few porky pies..."

Utterly flummoxed, Georg's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of what he had just discovered.

"So Max isn't working for you?" He rasped.

"No."

"And Maria isn't working for you?"

"No."

"Well neither of them are working for _me_!" he exclaimed incredulously.

John's brow knitted before he cursed heavily under his breath, slamming his fist down upon the table in frustration, "Could they both be working for Landa?"

"I wondered that myself," Georg replied, shaking his head in disbelief, "but something just doesn't add up."

Cursing again, John anchored his hands to his hips. He was not a man accustomed to being left in the dark and Georg could tell he was positively livid.

"Well if _you're_ not meddling and _I'm_ not meddling," he roared angrily, "just who the bloody hell _is_?!"

* * *

Elsa Shraeder turned up the collar of her coat against the cool breeze that swept through Vienna's side streets. She moved quickly, knowing that she was up against the clock. The instructions she'd received had been very specific and she didn't have time to waste. Rounding a corner, she bustled into the Hotel Altstadt, making her way to the back of the lobby where the public telephones were located. Hurriedly, she lifted the receiver and put in her request with the operator. Pulse quickening, she listened to the chime of the ringtone patiently - but her contact failed to pick up.

Shaking her head hopelessly, she slammed the receiver down again.

"Damn it, Max darling," she muttered to herself, double checking the clock on the wall, "where are you!"

* * *

"How long is this going to take?" Georg pestered, tapping his fingers restlessly against the table top.

John shot his cuff and checked his watch, "it won't take them very long," he reasoned, "Max isn't the sharpest tool in the box so I'd wager Fischer and Muller will find him without much difficulty."

Nodding, Georg continued his incessant tapping, casting his eyes around the dinghy room in an attempt to kill more time.

"Where are we anyway?" He asked curiously.

"Never you mind," John retorted - and then, at his son-in-law's pointed look, he added, "we're not far outside Salzburg. This dilapidated old hunter's shed is in the middle of nowhere, no one knows we're here."

Georg nodded again, resuming his bored tapping. It had been a few hours now since Fischer and Muller had left and he was growing increasingly more impatient. In light of recent revelations, he was anxious to confront the impresario so that he could quiet the cacophony of unanswered questions catapulting through his mind. There _had_ to be a explanation for Max's lies, he reasoned - and he'd bet his entire life's savings that the explanation had something to do with Maria...

True to John's word, his men barrelled through the door several minutes later, clutching their hooded victim by the arms. With nothing more than a nod of instruction from John, they plonked the impresario unceremoniously into the room's only unoccupied chair.

"For God's sake," Georg chastised, "don't you think the bag is a little over the top?"

The two gargoyles exchanged shrugs and grunted something that sounded like an unintelligible apology before resuming their lookout posts by the door. With an impatient roll of his eyes, Georg grabbed the bag firmly in his fist and wrenched it from Max's head. Confronted by the sudden glare of harsh light, the impresario blinked rapidly several times, until his bleary eyes eventually focused.

"Oh bugger," he cursed, upon identifying his captors.

"Oh bugger indeed!" Georg growled sardonically, resisting the urge to throttle the man, "working for John are you?"

"Funny," John added scathingly, arms crossed in front of his chest like a scolding father, "that's the first I've heard of it!"

Max's eyes darted frantically from one man to the other, a sheen of sweat marking his brow.

"Georg.. John.." he chuckled nervously, "I promise you, it's not what it looks like.."

"Really?" Georg challenged, leaning forward in his seat, "because it looks very much to me like you lied about working for John because you're carrying out some little scheme of your own with Maria as your bait!"

The impresario swallowed.

"Okay then, it's _exactly_ what it looks like," he back-pedalled sheepishly, "but you have to believe me, I had no choice!"

"What do you mean you had no choice?" John needled, stepping closer, "start from the very beginning!"

Heaving a deep sigh of defeat, Max nodded his acquiescence, knowing there was no use fighting.

"Just over a month ago," he began, turning to Georg, "I was contacted by the British Secret Service. They'd discovered that you were helping the Royal Navy and they threatened to expose your treachery to the Nazis if we refused to cooperate."

" _We_?" Georg's eyes narrowed, heart pounding against his ribs.

"Maria," Max revealed, "the Secret Service didn't just want _eyes_ on Landa, they wanted someone to get beneath the surface. Under his skin. To learn his habits, his weaknesses, his thoughts, his feelings. They needed someone local with no previous ties. Someone who could be trusted, while also being the last person in the world that Landa might suspect," he gave an apologetic shrug, "Maria fit the bill. And she agreed, in exchange for your protection."

"So the divorce...?" Georg trailed, the colour draining from his face.

"Was a direct order from the Secret Service," Max confirmed.

"And the relationship with Landa..?"

"A direct order from the Secret Service."

"And the Mauthausen telegram I found in my study.." Georg realised.

"A direct order from the Secret-"

"Yes _thank you_ Max," he gritted, "I've cottoned on! Only _you_ could be stupid enough to leave it under my very nose."

The impresario opened his mouth to retort but John cut him off.

"This is bloody ridiculous!" the man boomed furiously, pacing like a caged lion, "We're all on the same side with eyes on the same man! Who the hell is your contact?" he demanded, rounding on Max, "Secret Service or not, I'll have them _keelhauled_ for this!"

"Ahhh.." the impresario shook his head firmly, "You're really not going to like this..."

"Try us," Georg snarled, invading his friend's personal space in an attempt to intimidate the information out of him.

Max swallowed hard but remained silent.

"Max?!"

"Alright, alright!" The impresario caved, unable to look his captors directly in the eye, "it's.. well," he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "It's Elsa Shraeder."

At first, Georg thought he'd simply misheard.

"Who?" He blabbered stupidly.

"Elsa Shraeder," the impresario repeated plainly, as casually as though they were discussing afternoon tea. This time around however, his words well and truly sank in.

" _What_?!" Georg roared, launching to his feet and sending his chair skidding helplessly backwards, blood rushing in his ears.

"I told you you wouldn't like it!" Max insisted.

" _Your_ Elsa Shraeder is working for His Majesty's Secret Service?!" John spluttered, dumbfounded.

"So it would seem," the impresario confirmed.

If Georg didn't know any better, he might've wagered there was smoke coming out of his own nostrils, "Impossible!" he fired.

" _Improbable_ ," Max corrected matter-of-factly, "But not impossible.."

"But... _why_?"

The impresario gave a hapless shrug, "It appears Baroness Machiavelli has some political convictions after all! Who knew.."

"Well if she's so determined to double cross the Nazis, why didn't she volunteer _herself_ to be Landa's plaything!" Georg snarled, fists clenched into rocks.

"She and Landa go way back," the impresario revealed, "they met through Zeller a while ago. She was too connected. It was too risky."

"The hell it was!" Georg boomed, "She wanted revenge - and what a way to deliver it! Targeting _my_ wife when she was most vulnerable-"

"She's far from vulnerable I can assure you," Max chuckled, "She's been nothing short of brilliant! Sharp as a tack and fearless to boot. She's got Landa right where we want him."

"Where _I_ want him is as far away from Maria as possible!" Georg raged.

A sigh escaped the impresario's lips, "Elsa's involvement wasn't personal, Georg. I wish it could've been different but it was all for the greater good."

Livid, Georg opened his mouth to protest, but John silenced him with a firm hand upon his shoulder.

"As much as I hate to admit it, the sponge is right," his father-in-law said, much to Georg's outrage, "Landa is the type of man who would've delighted in stealing away a potential rival's wife and flaunting her on his arm like a prize to be won. Maria makes for the perfect bait."

Max nodded wordlessly in affirmation - and begrudgingly, Georg found he couldn't dispute such a point. It was true that at every opportunity, Landa had taunted him about his relationship with Maria - had dangled her like a carrot and taken immense pleasure in watching him squirm as a result. Utterly defeated, he sank back down into the nearest chair, lest his legs threatened to buckle beneath him.

"Why didn't she tell me..." he whispered, feeling terribly ashamed that his wife had been forced to suffer such a plight alone.

"Come now, Georg," Max reasoned, "you know as well as I do you would've been after blood if you'd known."

Another indisputable truth, Georg thought bitterly. He would've wanted to _kill_ whoever dared to approach his wife with such a dangerous proposition.

"What she must be going through.." he murmured to himself, the words catching in his throat, his heart tightening in a vice at the thought. All the signs had been there, he realised - the tears she'd shed when she'd asked for the divorce, her refusal to look him in the eye at Landa's party, the forsaking of her faith, the emptiness of her stare when he'd revealed he was leaving the country. Just as it had done two years ago, her unspoken devotion to him shone through like an unwavering beacon of light in every glance, every gesture, every word uttered, every accidental touch. He'd just been too blinded by despair to see it.

 _Mother still loves you. She cries everyday..._

Leisl's words echoed like phantoms in his mind, a truth he could no longer turn his back on. And before he even knew what he was doing, he was launching to his feet, rounding on his father-in-law faster than a starved jaguar on a buffalo.

"Take me back to my car," he demanded.

"Now Georg," John hesitated, raising his palms in protest, "don't go doing anything _rash_ -"

"I won't!" Georg snapped, "I just need to see her. I need to make sure she's alright."

"I assure you Georg," Max hastened to add, "she's perfectly safe-"

"Am I not making myself clear?!" Georg snarled with enough venom to make even John Whitehead take a cautionary step backwards, "I said take me to my car. Now."

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 **A/N: it's all finally kicking off! I have to admit my initial plot line was going to be that John was behind it all, but you're all far too clever and worked it out very early on. So I thought I'd switch things up a bit and it ended up being even more fun to write!**

 **Now that the truth has been revealed I can tell you I took some inspiration for the divorce part of this story from the film 'The Legend of Zorro'. Again, don't own anything, all for fun etc**

 **The next update is likely to be M, but if people prefer I can keep it T.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I'm glad you liked the twist, thank you for your thoughts on the last chapter! As promised, this chapter is an M. Will change the rating so the story will disappear from the main FF page - you'll need to change your rating settings in order to see it!**

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 **CHAPTER TEN: THE TRELLIS**

Maria had spent the better part of two hours watching the rain fall outside the drawing room window, staring unseeingly at the semi-darkness of the garden beyond, lit only occasionally by the whip-crack of lightning that would fork the sky. With the children and staff in bed, she had no means of distracting herself, and the cup of tea in her hand had long since gone cold. The memory of her Captain's face that very morning still hung like a portrait at the forefront of her mind. It was as though he'd been looking into her very soul, holding her captive with his gaze, uncovering truths that she was trying so desperately to keep concealed.

 _After everything we've been through my darling, your eyes will always reveal the truth to me_.

She knew in her heart of hearts that he had been right. Almost from the very first moments of their acquaintance, it had been impossible for her to hide anything from Georg Von Trapp. And neither had she ever truly wanted to. Even when she'd returned from the abbey, broken and exposed with nothing to her name but a hand-me-down dress and a battered guitar - even then she hadn't truly wanted to close herself off from her Captain.

But this time around, it was far more than just her pride at stake. Her family's very safety depended on her treachery, her falsehoods, her web of lies. The man she loved could barely stand the sight of her anymore - and in truth she could hardly stomach the sight of _herself_ either. But at least he would be _alive_. At least he would be _free_. Hundreds of miles away from the murderous grip of Nazi talons. She'd forsaken God, sacrificed her own mind, body and soul just to keep him safe - and yet for all that, it was her _own eyes_ that threatened to betray her.

Without explanation, a light shiver suddenly skittered down her spine then, breaking her from her daze - and instantly she felt goosebumps prickle her skin. It was almost as if she could feel another presence in the room, a comforting spirit meant to soothe her battered heart while simultaneously making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Perhaps it was a sign from God, she told herself wistfully - but then again, God had probably abandoned her a long time a-

"That trellis is a damn sight harder to climb than Louisa lets on."

The tea cup slid from her numbed fingers, hitting the floor with a deafening crash as the baritone voice pierced the quietude of the room from somewhere behind her. He'd spoken the words so softly, so tenderly, that she thought she might've imagined it - but there was no mistaking that stirring timbre, nor the thundering behind her ribcage that it elicited.

Hardly able to draw breath, she turned on jellied legs to confront her intruder, half expecting to find only a figment of her imagination staring back at her. But sure enough, there her captain stood - made of flesh and blood and bone - just as real as she was. Clearly he'd been caught out in the storm, for he was soaked to the skin - hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to the planes of his chest, his breathing ragged and eyes aflame. Had he really scaled the walls of the villa in search of her? The prospect set a flame flickering low in her stomach.

"Hallo," he rasped, his chest heaving, "I thought I just might find you here..."

The tendrils of his voice and the intensity of his stare threatened to unravel her - but quick as a flash she gathered her composure, lest she gave herself away.

"Georg.." she addressed him as dispassionately as her racing heart would allow, "What on _earth_ do you think you're doing her-"

"Do you know how many times you've asked me that question in recent weeks?" He pondered curiously, eyes glittering at her from the doorway, " _What am I doing here_. If you don't already know the answer, then let me remedy that fact right now, darling," he took a step closer, as though approaching a startled foal, the rich velvet of his voice holding her captive, "I'm here because I will _always_ be here. Right _here_. By your side. Watching over you. Protecting you. _Loving_ you, if only you'd let me. You must never ask me that question again Maria, because just so long as I am still breathing, I will _always_ be right here."

His declaration rooted her to the floor and tore the remaining air from her lungs, the room suddenly pulsing with the new and dangerous combination of desire, fear, hurt and longing.

"Why?" He questioned of himself, before she could do the same, "because you've sacrificed your own happiness, you've risked your own _life_... just to protect mine."

All at once, her gut dropped into her shoes. He knew. By God, _he knew_! Tears of panic, of turmoil, threatened to burn her throat as she managed only one strangled word, " _How_?"

"Max," he revealed, all humour gone from his eyes, leaving only uninhibited admiration, "he told me everything. You brave, _darling_ girl..."

That was all it took for Maria's armour to finally give way. With a sob of relief, she flew to him instantly - her Captain, her anchor, her very lifeblood - but he was already halfway across the room ready to catch her. Before she could draw breath, before she could form a single coherent thought, they collided in a kiss that robbed all oxygen from the atmosphere - frantic and chaotic and painful in its intensity. Lips and mouths clashed with need, hot breath scorched soft skin, and her hands - once so intent on pushing him away - now grasped at his shirt in an attempt to bring him closer.

" _Maria_ ," he croaked urgently against her mouth, fingers twisting into her hair like a vine. If she thought the sound of her name on his lips might've shocked some sense into her however, she'd thought wrong - for she only gave an anguished whimper and pursued his mouth again, seeking solace in the pleasure she found there. Briefly, it occurred to her that a smarter woman might've considered the danger they were putting themselves in - but like a drug surging hotly through her veins he filled her every sense, until she found herself not only welcoming, but _craving_ this fresh new fracture in her soul.

Returning her feverish kiss with abandon, Georg's arms wound their way around her waist and crushed her body to his, the faint taste of salt lacing the tip of his tongue. Were they her tears or his? It hardly mattered anymore, not with the clash of euphoria and turmoil that gripped his whole body. A yearning groan, a fumbled step, a flurry of entwined limbs, and he was pressing her up against the wall, desire driving him mindlessly onward.

Her tongue curled like hot silk against his, and before long it became apparent that neither one of them was going to stop. He felt her push up onto her tiptoes then, fusing her hips firmly against his and-

"Wait wait wait..!" he choked between frantic kisses, hardly able to think straight, "Maria, _wait_. We need to stop, we need to talk-"

Tearing away from his mouth long enough to press her fingers to his lips, she panted breathlessly through her protest, eyes wild as a colt's, "No don't. Don't say another _word_. Please."

"But-"

"Not now," she implored on a whisper, "Not tonight."

He hesitated, heart pounding, and sought answers to silent questions in the depths of her eyes. He saw sorrow, he saw longing, he saw anguish. But he saw love there too, she made no effort to hide it. Something shifted deep inside him then, an ache blossomed for which this woman was the only cure. There was so much they needed to discuss, so much they still needed to talk about - but it could wait, he decided. It _would_ wait. Right now, the only thing he needed was his wife - for that was who she would always be in his eyes, divorce papers be damned.

Within half a second, his arms were full of her again, this time with no intention of ever stopping. And it was just as well, for her fingers were already flying down the row of buttons on his shirt, shoving the soaked material aside, no more than a mere annoyance to her. Almost immediately, her mouth descended upon him, tongue following the path her fingers had just traced in the curls on his chest - and with a low groan he realised he was already way out of his depth.

Throughout the intimate aspects of their marriage, he'd had the pleasure of experiencing many different sides to his wife - the virgin bride, the passionate equal, the willing partner. But when she was like _this_ \- desperate and commanding and completely unashamed in taking exactly what she needed from him - he was completely at her mercy.

Shirt laying forgotten at his feet, her teeth wracked frantically over his skin, until he found himself near-ravenous for his own turn. With an impatient growl, he pinned her to the wall again, his mouth claiming her jaw, her throat, her décolletage, fighting against her dress until he was able to tug the loosened garment from her body. But the woman before him was proving herself to be more than just his equal. Nimble fingers scrambled for his belt buckle, ripping it from his waist - and then, God help him, her hips were locked to his again and she was rocking her body exactly where he needed her most.

Something hot and untameable had roared to life in Maria's chest, a need so fierce that it could be assuaged only by his touch. Perhaps it was the weeks of yearning, perhaps it was the scent of danger in the air, or perhaps it was just something uniquely _them_. Whatever it was, she was lost to it, lost to _him_ , lost to the chaos that gripped her heart.

"More!" She mewled desperately, and he obeyed without question, tearing the undergarments from her chest so that his tongue could curl against the tautness of her nipple. Pleasure rippled down her spine and she cried out, hands locking firmly in his hair. When he took the other aching nipple between his teeth, the burden of standing became too much. Helplessly, she let her knees give way and he slid down the length of the wall with her, until she found herself wedged blissfully between the solid weight of his body and the carpet beneath them.

In a flurry of frantic movements, the rest of her clothes were abandoned to the floor. And then, at the very same time that his tongue invaded her mouth, she felt him ease a sturdy finger inside her. Blood surging hotly through her veins, she bit down on his lip to stifle a cry and heard his deep moan of appreciation, felt the vibration of his hum all the way inside her.

She was tighter, softer, hotter than he remembered - and the sound that bubbled from her throat made him harder than marble.

"Oh _darling_ ," he purred against her throat, his eyes darkening at his new discovery, "you've missed me haven't you-"

"Your mouth!" she cried without a moment's hesitation, " _please_ , give me your mouth."

He didn't need asking twice. Moving down the length of her body, he immediately withdrew his hand and replaced it with his tongue, gently prying her open, dipping inside her just enough to leave her feeling utterly satisfied and yet entirely bereft. He did it once, twice, the third time deeper than the second, the fourth time so deep that she lifted her hips to meet him. But then suddenly he was gone from between her legs, and her eyes flew open in protest.

"Georg, _please_!" She sobbed once again, but this time he put his foot down.

"No," he refused firmly, unbuttoning his trousers with one hand and stroking the hair from her face with the other, "you'll come apart with me inside you and not a _moment_ sooner."

True to his word, he didn't touch her again until he was naked and exposed before her - all skin, hair, muscle and bone. The broad shoulders she'd so often gripped for support, the solid planes of his chest, the strong bands of his arms, the taught canvas of his abdomen - and she dared her eyes to move lower, drinking in the sight of his unabashed arousal, satin and steel straining towards the trail of hair alighting his stomach. The thought of ever seeing another man in this way made her feel _sick_. What a relief it was to finally be true to herself, to no longer pretend that she was indifferent to this man's love.

"We're going to take our time," Georg rasped, wanting to make their reunion last as long as possible, "I want to remind myself of what it feels like. To fill you, inch by in-"

But it appeared Maria had other ideas, for her eyes suddenly darkened and she moved before he could even finish his sentence. Within moments he found himself splayed on his back, her thighs anchored at either side of his hips. It occurred to him momentarily, over the blood rushing to his head, that they'd ended up in this very same position the last time they'd made love - and the significance of her unspoken demand wasn't lost on him. Just like on that fateful night, there was a raw honesty to her need, as though she was refusing to hold anything back. He wagered she'd worn her mask for long enough now, and this was her way of stripping herself bare once again.

That was his last coherent thought before Maria threw her head back and drew him deeply into her body, eliciting a low growl from his throat. She had entirely stripped him of control and he could do nothing but acquiesce to the madness, her desperate intensity arousing him beyond all reason. It was immensely frustrating and yet overwhelmingly stirring - to feel the woman he loved sheathing him entirely but being completely unable to alter the pace, to enhance her ecstasy, to do anything but take what she was willing to give. Panting for breath, he could feel his iron control slipping, his release building with the gathering momentum of a rapid wave. But he couldn't bear the thought of it being over so soon. Not when he'd missed her to the point of misery.

She rocked frantically against him, her eyes never leaving his, and he watched in fervent awe as she skated her own fingers across the parts of her body that brought her the most bliss. It was too exquisite to bear, seeing her unashamedly deriving her own pleasure. But what truly held him captive was the love and heartache burning in her eyes - so much so, that he had to grit his teeth against the surge of emotion that washed over him.

" _I've missed you_ ," she choked - the very same confession that she'd shared with him on their last night together. And this time, he couldn't stop the tears that laced his eyes, nor the words that tumbled uninhibited from his lips.

"I love you, Maria," he rasped hoarsely, repeating it over and over like a mantra, elation flooding through his veins when she echoed the words right back to him. But while his heart was fuller than it had been in months, his body still burned with the need to be sated.

It seemed as though the torture would never end, as though she would keep him suspended on the brink for eternity, and he resisted the all-consuming urge to pull her down flush against his body so that he could drive his hips frantically upward. He had no words of wisdom, nor a grand plan that would seal their fate after tonight. But _this_ \- his heart, his body, his surrender - in a world where all else seemed lost - _this_ he could give her.

Her gasps and whimpers gave way to soft moans then as he felt her tighten around him. His fingers dug into her thighs, aiding her movements - and when at last she cried out, announcing through short, strangled gasps that she was climaxing, he found nothing but sheer relief in the knowledge that he too could finally let go.

The solace was short-lived however, because she'd barely finished shuddering around him before her hips began to rock again, setting another frenzied pace in search of even greater rapture. She did this twice more, taking her gratification over and over again, sobbing his name in tortured ecstasy, gripping him tighter and tighter - until he could take the pleasure no longer, and she sent him crashing headlong into a thunderous release that tore his body in half.

Falling limp afterwards, Maria shook with the sudden onslaught of her tears and immediately accepted the comfort of his arms around her. No words were needed, save for the whispers of adoration against skin, the kisses he pressed to every part of her body. Gradually her frantic heartbeat slowed, leaving only a profound sense of peace in its wake. How long it would last however, remained to be seen.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm not sure how happy I am with this reunion but to be honest I don't think I would've ever got is as perfect as I would've wanted it! Either way, it was about time for some M &G steam!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: At the risk of sounding like a broken record, thank you for your reviews once again! I'm at a point in the story where I'm not quite sure where I'm going to take it, so the updates may be a little slower going forward, sorry in advance! Also, this story is now M, so be sure to change your settings in order to find it.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE TALK**

Before the darkness of the night had faded into dawn, they made love again - this time between the tangled sheets of their marriage bed. Maria had cried in his arms after they'd come apart together on the drawing room floor - and Georg had understood why. Their frantic reunion had been entirely overwhelming, deeply intense and altogether harrowing - more so than even _he_ could have anticipated.

It was true that he'd had more than his fair share of sexual encounters in his lifetime. A string of lovers in his youth followed by a very loving and fulfilling first marriage, succeeded yet again by a second wife who'd proved herself to be more than his equal in spades. But never had he made love with such raw emotion, such sublime intensity, such open despair - driven solely by six long weeks of yearning. Gripped by a fierce and sudden need to protect her, he'd wasted no time in gathering her into his arms like a cut of priceless porcelain, carrying her out of the drawing room and up to their suite.

There, he laid her on the bed and lavished her body with kisses, taking his time to imprint himself on every inch of skin he could reach - reminding himself of every freckle, every scar, every curve, as though they weren't already committed to memory. When eventually she whimpered for more of him, he turned her on her side and cocooned her in his arms, his warm torso spooned against the length of her back, his gentle heartbeat drumming against her skin - and within minutes he was easing inside her.

In no obvious rush this time around, he pressed unhurried kisses to the crook of her neck, skimming the deepest parts of her pleasure through languid, lingering nudges that left them both desperate for release. Despite his every synapse burning with need, he stayed with her, moving against and within her excruciating slowly in a display of arduous revenge.

"Don't torture me, Georg," she implored, shifting back against him for more of the much needed friction, "Please, I can't bear it!"

But he only slowed his pace even more, burying himself to the hilt and holding steady, "you're not to move again," he commanded low against the shell of her ear, "or I'll pull out of you."

It was an empty threat of course - he could no more will himself to leave her body than he could will himself to stop breathing. In truth, his biggest concern was that if she continued to snap her hips against him, her petite bottom pressed firmly into his lap, then he would come apart within thirty seconds. And he'd be damned if he was going to let her get the best of him a second time.

"Keep still so I can do _this_ ," he drew his hips back and she felt him pull nearly all the way out of her, leaving her bereft, before dipping inside her again, inch by excruciating inch - until he'd filled her with solid fire. Countless more times he did this, shuddering and gasping through the exquisite sensation.

"You feel _phenomenal_ ," he choked, "like hot butter melting around me."

The torturous repetition of withdrawal and reunion continued, the pace never altering, until he could feel her gripping around him so tightly that he was forced to cry out from it. Still he forged stubbornly on, refusing to increase the speed, suspending them both on the brink of white hot friction for as long as their sanity could cope with it. Looking for something - _anything_ \- to cling on to, Maria's small hand found his and led it around her front, until he was fondling a hardened nipple under the guidance of her palm. The added stimulation nudged her into a shattering climax, which rapidly brought on his - and he muffled his cries into the back of her neck as the ecstasy bloomed through his body.

Afterwards they lay in each other's arms, he stroking his fingers along her jaw, and she nestled into the crook of his shoulder, the atmosphere thick with words left unsaid. Though sunrise was still a few hours away, Maria nevertheless found herself dreading the night's end, for soon enough, she would have to explain herself to the man laying beside her. She gathered her courage, ready to face the music - but one look at his face told her that he wanted to ask her something, a question he was clearly afraid of hearing the answer to.

"What is it?" she whispered, tracing the worry lines on his brow with her fingertips. When the creases only deepened, she gave a self-deprecating sigh, as if she knew the question was far too simple for the complexity of their situation, "Where do we even begin..."

"Do you feel anything for him?" Georg blurted, the pain in his eyes quite evident.

"Besides revulsion? Absolutely not."

Her reply was enough to make his shoulders sag with relief. Deep down he'd known the answer, had known that she'd merely been playing a role - but weeks of misery and self-doubt had left him feeling vulnerable and exposed. Which inevitably led him to further questions.

"Did he ever hurt you?"

Relief flooded him again when she merely shook her head.

"Did he ever.." his jaw tightened and he swallowed hard, ".. _touch_ you?"

Sighing, Maria took his hand in hers, distracting herself by following the lines on his palm with her fingertips, "He tried," she revealed honestly, her voice meek, "occasionally he would.. he would kiss me. It _sickened_ me, Georg - the only way I could bear his affection was to imagine he was you."

Grimly, Georg nodded in acceptance, his mind casting back to the moment on the terrace at the Goldener - the shudder that had gripped Maria's body under Landa's touch. He realised now it had been a shudder of disgust, though in truth it didn't make him feel much better. Which led him to another topic weighing heavily on his mind...

"On the terrace.. " he continued, throat working furiously, "at the Goldener. You defended him so fiercely-"

"But under duress," She bleated, her eyes meeting his in a silent plea for forgiveness, "I couldn't risk exposure, I couldn't risk saying anything else in case he were to overhear! I meant not one of the insidious words I said that day, nor the day I asked for the divorce," she took his face in her hands, "you _have_ to believe me, Georg. I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror."

Silence.

"The last few months have been hell," she revealed, though without even a hint of self-pity, "I've felt very much alone. _Terrified_ , at times. The children can hardly look me in the eye - and watching you suffer at my hand has been..." she trailed off, words failing her, "But if I didn't acquiesce, they would've thrown you to the wolves."

Georg said nothing for a long while, mulling her words over in his mind and trying to determine how best to voice his own feelings. He knew she was right, that she hadn't been given a choice in the matter. But even so, he was going to be brutally honest with her.

"I won't lie to you, Maria," he told her gravely, letting her see the raw emotion behind his eyes, "there were times - mostly when there was a bottle of cognac lodged in my brain - that I thought about ending it all..."

A shuddering breath was her only response before he continued.

"Losing you was.." he rubbed the back of his ear uncomfortably, "well it was very _hard_. But I refused to abandon the children again - because of the lessons _you_ taught me. Even when I wanted to despise you, it was _your_ words from two years ago that kept me going. _Please Captain,_ _love them, love them all._ You gave me my life back. I was angry and hurt, yes - but no matter how much I tried, I couldn't hate you. How could I? I love you."

"And I you," she insisted, hardly able to bear his confessions.

"I just.. " he swallowed hard, "I just wish you could've _told_ me. Instead I was forced to uncover everything through that blasted telegram of Max's that I found in my study-"

"You found the telegram?" Maria's eyes brightened suddenly, "that was _my_ telegram, Georg - not Max's," she corrected, "I left it there deliberately in the hopes that you would discover it. I was trying to send you a _message_. I wanted to tell you so badly. But you wouldn't have stood for it. And then the British would've carried out their threats after all."

Mind reeling at this new discovery, Georg couldn't deny that even he had managed to underestimate his wife in the past few months. Despite unfathomable dangers, she had managed through sheer stubbornness and force of will, to rise to every challenge, to cross every hurdle, displaying strength and bravery, wit and cleverness and, yes—as he had recently learned —even a fierce cunning one might not expect to find in a woman from such a holy background.

And now here she was, this beautiful, spirited, complex woman before him, exceeding his expectations all over again in her bid to protect the most important thing in her life. To her, it wasn't an obligation or a duty - he knew. Instead, it was simply an innate truth; in the same way a lioness would always defend her cubs, Maria von Trapp would _always_ defend her family.

When her next words broke his reverie, he could hear her voice cracking under the strain, "I hope one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

" _Oh_ darling," he acquiesced, any remaining resentment melting away at the pain in her plea, "there's nothing to forgive," pulling her into his arms, he pressed a fierce kiss to her forehead, "I knew you weren't who you were pretending to be, I just _knew_ it! At first I thought it was John who had put you up to it. But then John accused _me_ , would you believe!" He shook his head bitterly, "It wasn't until we confronted Max that we _both_ found out the truth."

"You must've been so angry."

"Angry?" He spat, "I'm _livid_! But not with you. What you did was courageous and selfless and heroic. I owe you my life, yet again," he cupped her cheek and she nuzzled gratefully into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed, "but I'm furious at the situation we've been forced into. Most of all, I'm furious with Elsa."

Immediately Maria pulled back to look him in the eye, "She kept me safe, Georg," she defended, "she kept us _both_ safe."

"She put you in harm's way in the first place!" He retorted, outraged.

"That may be," Maria agreed, "but her hands were tied too. She and Max have been a constant comfort to me in some of my darkest hours. Without them, I wouldn't have made it through."

Reluctantly he settled back against the pillows, a slight frown darkening his brow. He said nothing for a long time, his face a grave mask as he let her words sink in - and she grew more agitated with every second of silence that passed. Eventually - and to her utmost relief - he took her hand in his.

"Does Landa suspect..?"

"No," she replied firmly, "No I don't believe he suspects a thing. Though he's very curious about _you_ \- as you might expect."

Georg shook his head in apparent disgust, "It's not safe here, for either of us," he muttered, "Nor the children. Not anymore. It's only a matter of time."

"When do you leave Austria?" Maria asked, her stomach tightening with dread at the prospect.

He gave a lost shrug - as though he'd hardly managed to get his head around the thought of leaving at all.

"Nearly all of my affairs are in order, so I was planning on going in a matter of days, weeks at most," he revealed, before turning to face her, his eyes ablaze with determination, "But I'm not going without _you_. Not now."

Instantly, doubt gripped her heart, "Georg.. if I leave now, the Secret Service will surely have me-"

"I don't give a _damn_ about the Secret Service!" He snarled, gripping her hand tighter, "We have to leave Austria. And this house. But I will _not_ flee without you. And they'll call me to serve if I stay."

"But what about Landa?" Maria retorted.

"What about him?"

"I can't just leave without giving the British what they need," she insisted gallantly, "The information I could provide might give them the means to stop him, to stop _Hitler_! We can't just walk away. I have an obligation to fulfil and I must stay to fulfil it."

For a pacifist, she would make a fine soldier - he admitted begrudgingly. With strong principles, fierce courage, unwavering loyalty and unshakeable determination in pursuit of the good, it was a wonder that she'd never been decorated by the emperor herself. Part of him was sorely tempted to point out the irony of her argument - given that she had once denigrated him so fiercely for his loyalty towards the British Royal Navy. But she had said all those things under duress - he knew that now. And he also knew there was no use in denying her this sense of duty - her scruples were synonymous with his, after all. No - they couldn't sit back and do nothing.

"How long do you need?" He asked.

She eyed him uncertainly before offering an answer, "A couple of weeks. I have copies of documents.. snippets of conversation I can share with Elsa. I found plans.. " she gave an involuntary shudder, and he knew without question _exactly_ which plans she was referring to.

"The Final Solution," he confirmed.

She couldn't mask her surprise, "How did you-?"

"I found the very same plans in Landa's suite that day we banged into one another at the Goldener," he confessed sheepishly, "And then, after I found the telegram, I drove to Mauthausen myself to see if I could make sense of it all. I suspect it's just one of many locations all over Europe in which they're planning to construct prisoner-of-war camps..."

An eerie silence followed before Maria eventually spoke, her voice quiet.

"It was chilling, seeing those blueprints," she whispered, "There are going to be dark times ahead, aren't there."

"I fear this is just the beginning.." Georg confessed, his eyes blackening with melancholy. He remained pensive for long moments before he began to lay forth his plans for their eventual escape, "Alright," he relented, "you keep Landa close, while I get our remaining affairs in order. Remain under cover and don't give him any reason to suspect that anything is out of the ordinary. Once the British have what they need and I've made the necessary arrangements, we'll take the children and head over the border."

"Okay," she whispered simply, her eyes meeting his with a simmering determination.

"Okay?" He repeated in disbelief, hardly daring to hope that she was willing to follow him. He'd expected a rebuttal, a fierce argument to the contrary - but she only pressed a sound kiss to his lips.

"Okay," she confirmed with a nod, "I'll follow you anywhere, my Captain."

Eagerly, he took her cheek in his palm and captured her mouth again, feeling a profound sense of hope for the first time in months.

"One last thing," he added, tracing her lips with his own.

"Hmm?"

"Once we're over the border.. I want you to marry me. I, uh... I _ask_ you to marry me," he corrected sheepishly, " _Again_."

The little trill of laughter that came from her was music to his ears and she nodded gently in his hands. Almost immediately, it felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I could never have done it you know," he murmured hoarsely, "Leaving without you. Even if I _hadn't_ discovered the truth, I don't think I could've left you behind."

"I know," she breathed, covering one his hand with hers, "And rightly or wrongly, I would've come after you. I wouldn't have been able to bear it. Without you and the children, I don't think I could-"

But her sentence was cut short and the blood immediately drained from her face when they heard the dull, hammering thud of a fist on the front door downstairs - so loud that it rattled through the house, even above the howl of the wind and rain outside. With all the instinct that a life in the navy had taught him, Georg immediately flung himself from bed and scrambled roughly into his clothes before Maria had even had a chance to draw breath.

" _Stay here_ ," he commanded, his voice low and his eyes sharp as he padded on bare feet towards the door.

"Georg, wait!" She hissed from the bed, her voice laced with panic - but he was already slipping out onto the landing like a jungle cat on the hunt, finger pressing to his lips before he disappeared from sight.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: so this update was a little quicker than I expected, mainly because it's a little shorter than the rest. It was originally going to be a bit longer but this was the most logical point to break it. Plus, it's the delicious Christopher Plummer's birthday today, so I couldn't NOT post an update ;)**

 **As always your reviews mean the world!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWELVE: THE VISITORS**

 _"Stay here," Georg commanded, his voice low and his eyes sharp as he padded on bare feet towards the door._

 _"Georg, wait!" Maria hissed from the bed, her voice laced with panic - but he was already slipping out onto the landing like a jungle cat on the hunt, finger pressing to his lips before he disappeared from sight._

Without so much as a single hesitation, Maria leapt to her feet, adorning her nightgown and robe before catapulting after him. By some miracle she managed to catch up with him just outside the governess' room, grabbing him by the upper arm and yanking him back with surprising strength.

"Wait just one second!" She hissed, ignoring the impatient roll of his eyes, "no one is supposed to know you're here, remember! What if it's one of Landa's men?"

Georg's expression became thunderous, "He'd have someone call upon you at _this_ ungodly hour?!"

"He doesn't exactly follow the rules of convention!" Maria snipped, "besides, it's nearly sunrise."

"But-"

"If you go down there half dressed and half asleep at this time in the morning there'll be an awful lot of explaining to do, regardless of who is on the other side of that door!" She hissed, " _I'll_ go."

Nostrils flaring, Georg's scowl shifted past the banister to the front door below them, before flitting back to her face, his internal battle evident. Eventually, he gave in.

"Fine," he snarled reluctantly, "but I'll be watching from right _here_ ," he pointed emphatically to the floor beneath his feet, "I don't want you out of my sight. Not when it could be dangerous."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Maria insisted impatiently, "just.. _wait here_."

The sharp knocking started up again and she hurried down the stairs before the sound could wake the children. Heart drumming on an off-beat in her chest, her fingers flew across the various locks and bolts, pulling the door back to reveal-

"Hans!" She bleated, her back ramrod straight, unable to mask the quiver of surprise in her voice.

"Good morning mein Schatz," Landa beamed pleasantly on the doorstep, "I trust you are well?"

Maria swallowed hard. Never before had he come to the house himself, always preferring to send one of his drivers or henchmen to pick her up and escort her to wherever he wished her to be. This time however, it appeared he'd come alone, for his only companions were the charming smile painted across his face and a large umbrella that he was clutching firmly in his hand to protect his impeccable uniform from the torrent of rain lashing down behind him.

"Wh.. what are you doing here?" she managed to stammer - but clearly it was the wrong thing to say because, quite without warning, the smile slid from Landa's face, his mouth morphing into a thin line.

"Do I need a reason to pay mein _Süße_ a visit?" He asked icily, eyes flickering with something akin to malice.

Momentarily taken aback, Maria simply blinked at him several times while he raised an expectant eyebrow, waiting for some form of reply. The darkness in his gaze set her stomach roiling, lodging the words in her throat. But as quickly as it had come, all the danger suddenly disappeared from his face and he was chuckling playfully once again.

"As delighted as I am that my teasing renders you _speechless_ , liebling, I was rather hoping you would do me the honour of inviting me in," he confessed, "if not for the pleasure of my company then at least just to offer me some shelter from this _ghastly_ weather!"

"I..," Maria stuttered, attempting to gather her wits, "I'm afraid I'm not suitably _dressed_ , Hans."

She clutched her robe closer to her chest but he merely gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Well you can change, I'll wait for you."

With that he shook his umbrella clear of raindrops and stepped into the house, wiping his boots emphatically on the mat on his way past her. Rather than scurrying off to dress however, Maria stood firm, reluctant to turn her back on this unwelcome intruder even for so much as a second, lest he were to discover something that was best left hidden.

Taking a curious look around the grand entranceway, Landa's sharp eyes scanned the banisters above them and Maria waited with her heart in the throat, praying that Georg was smart enough to have fallen back into the shadows. Then quite unexpectedly, Landa's piercing gaze locked with hers. He stared at her curiously for long seconds, making her skin prickle with anxiety, before eventually his face split into another charming smile.

"Could I possibly trouble your butler for a warming cup of tea?"

Releasing the breath she'd unknowingly been holding, Maria forced herself to return his smile, "I'm afraid he hasn't risen yet, but he and the rest of the staff will be awake in an hour or so. I'm terribly embarrassed not to have received you properly, Hans - do forgive me."

"Consider it forgotten, mein Schatz," he winked, "Though you're far too lenient with your staff if you allow them such a lie in. My own employees know to be up and ready for duty by 5am sharp and not a second later!"

He continued to prattle on about the importance of timekeeping as Maria led him to the drawing room - her eyes desperately scanning the floor for any signs of her and Georg's lovemaking only hours previously. Thankfully there were none - though the blood still continued to thunder through her veins. It didn't even bear thinking about how the colonel might react if he were to discover that she had let her estranged husband ravish her on the carpet beneath his booted feet.

"I'll make you a cup of tea myself," Maria offered, as Landa flung himself unceremoniously onto the nearest sofa.

"Danke. If it's not too much trouble."

With quaking hands, Maria managed to rush through the task of making a pot of tea in the kitchens, using the much-needed solitude to gather her frayed composure. There was nothing to fear after all - Hans was oblivious to Georg's whereabouts and there was no reason for him to suspect there was anything out of the ordinary going on. His visit was simply _ill-timed_ , that was all. If she could only get through a refreshment with the man while keeping her nerves in tact, she would soon be able to send him on his way with him being none the wiser.

By the time she returned to the drawing room, her fingers had finally stopped shaking - much to her relief.

"Danke," the colonel beamed, taking the proffered cup of steaming liquid from her outstretched hand and lifting it to his lips. He took a long draught despite the fact that the drink was piping hot, his eyes boring into hers for interminable seconds over the rim of his teacup. Eventually he put the delicate china back on its saucer with a little clink, smacking his lips with a satisfied sigh.

"As delectable and sweet as you are, my dear," he purred, "Please," he patted the spot next to him with exaggerated gusto, "sit."

Gingerly, Maria did as she was told, trying her hardest to mask the revulsion she felt at the attention he was bestowing upon her.

"You have a wonderful home," Landa complimented, looking around the room nosily, "or rather, your ex-husband does!"

"Thank you," she smiled, "Fortunately though, I won't be living under this roof for much longer."

"Oh?"

"I've secured a teaching position in town," Maria revealed, "once I'm established I'll be able to find an apartment of my own."

A sickening grin broke across Landa's face and Maria was instantly filled with an inexplicable sense of foreboding.

" _Marvellous_ ," he simpered, his voice like treacle as he nudged a fraction closer, "I've always admired a woman who can stand on her own two feet. A woman who does not _need_ a man, but rather _chooses_ a man for herself."

A single finger grazed down her cheek and she inwardly shuddered with disgust at the sensation, as well as the unmistakable meaning behind his words.

"Hans," she chastised affectionately, recoiling a little from his touch, "you embarrass me."

"I assure you, mein Schatz," he murmured darkly, " _embarrassing_ you is the least of my intentions."

With that, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, a small smirk playing around his mouth, his eyes ablaze like a hungry wolf's and his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he leant towards her. Preparing for the misery of his touch, Maria could only sit, dumbstruck, head spinning at his unwanted proximity. His breath was hot against her face, his fingertips rough against her skin. The scent of cigarettes invaded her nostrils and his mouth descended, mere millimetres away from-

A thundering knock at the front door threw the couple apart - and Landa's head snapped up, his expression shifting from one of surprise to one of undeniable irritation.

"Expecting someone?" He turned to her coolly, eyes narrowing.

Speechless, Maria merely shook her head, rooted to the spot, her gut still churning from their almost-kiss. When several seconds of silence passed in which she failed to move, the colonel gave an impatient raise of his eyebrow.

"Surely you don't want to leave your visitor waiting?"

"No.. no of course not," Maria swallowed, rising on jellied legs under his scrutiny, "please, do excuse me a moment."

Hurrying to the front door for the second time in less than half an hour, her mind flipped frantically through the index of people that could possibly be paying her a visit - but she drew a blank. One thing was for certain however: whoever it was, Landa would surely be watching - and dread unfurled in a stomach at the potential danger she was putting herself in. The knocking continued however, becoming more and more insistent with every second that passed - and she knew she had no choice but to answer it. Her heart cantered against her chest, her head swam with unpleasant possibilities - but when the door swung open her shoulders sagged with relief, for was only-

" _Max_ ," She breathed, almost laughing with joy, "I'm _so_ glad it's-"

But the words died in her throat when the impresario grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, his eyes wide and chest heaving, "Maria, _listen_ -"

"Herr Detweiler," came Landa's low drawl, interrupting them both from his spot in the drawing room doorway, "how odd to see _you_ here at such an early hour..."

Maria didn't miss the flash of panic that skittered across Max's face - but he managed to mask it as quickly as it had come, straightening up and greeting the colonel's glare with an unperturbed smile.

"Ah, Landa!" He chorused jovially, "Good to see you! I'm afraid I've always been an early riser, as it so happens. Can't seem to shake the habit from my navy days!" clearing his throat, he cast a sideways glance at Maria, "I was just in the area on my way to the Cloppman Monastery Choir breakfast rehearsals, funnily enough. I uh.. I just wanted to check you were all okay after the storm. Treacherous conditions out there."

His eyes burned into Maria's so pointedly that she could tell he desperately needed to tell her something. What it was however, remained a mystery to her.

"Is that so?" Landa purred in mock fascination, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning casually against the door jamb.

"Indeed."

A charged silence engulfed them, sucking all the air from the room. Fearful that Max's unannounced presence would provoke the beast and cause an altercation, Maria hastily tried to ease the growing tension between the two men.

"I'm fine Max, really," she tried to reassure him with a smile, "the storm did no harm," - but one look at the impresario's face told her he was still quite distressed. When Max showed no signs relenting, Landa took a calculated step closer.

"She said she's fine, _Max_ ," he repeated icily, in a tone that left very little room for argument.

Still the impresario said nothing, his eyes shifting uncertainly from Maria, to her breakfast companion, and back again.

"Perhaps I could join you for a spot of tea?" He eventually suggested, with all the charm a life alongside the aristocracy had taught him.

"With all due respect Herr Detweiler," Landa gritted, "it's abominably rude to invite oneself into someone else's home when they are _already_ entertaining..."

"I'm afraid I'm just that abominably rude," Max quipped, making to step over the threshold. Instantly, Landa took a step closer, fists clenched, and Maria was quick to intervene.

"Really Max," she muttered, a palm pressed to his chest, "I'm alright.."

"Maria," the impresario implored quietly, "I really _must_ insist-"

"She won't tell you again, Herr Detweiler," Landa threatened, his voice slicing through the air, "and neither will I. _Leave us_."

Desperate to diffuse the toxic situation, Maria offered the impresario a barely perceptible nod, her final gesture of unspoken reassurance.

Reluctantly, Max took a step back, his expression pained, "Very well.." he nodded, in a way that told Maria nothing was well at all. Quite clearly he needed to tell her something, something urgent that couldn't be said in company.

"Do you know where Georg might be?" he asked suddenly, the desperation evident in his voice.

Maria's stomach twisted in knots.

"I'm afraid not," she lied, all too aware of Landa's eyes burning into her back.

The impresario nodded again, his face a picture of torment. Just as he was turning to leave however, an idea flickered to life in Maria's mind and she hurriedly called him back.

"Max? If uh.. if you _do_ happen to see Georg," she remarked emphatically, "will you tell him I've found a new... _governess_ ," she stressed the final word and shifted her eyes upward in the general direction of the governess' bedroom and the adjoining nursery, "a new governess for _the children_?"

The impresario simply blinked at her blankly.

 _Come on Max_ , she pleaded with her eyes, praying to God that he somehow understood her covert message. _Georg is upstairs. As are the children!_

His expression unreadable, the impresario eventually gave a slow nod - and Maria truly had no idea whether her message had hit home, "I'll be sure to find him..."

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 **A/N: Next update on the way!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: sorry for the slight delay! It was my birthday yesterday so the weekend left very little time for writing! I hope you enjoy the update.**

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 **CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE MESSAGE**

Georg watched in turmoil from his hiding place in the shadows, gripping the banister for support as Maria ushered a reluctant Max back out the front door and closed it behind him. Their conversation had been too quiet for Georg to hear, despite his best efforts - and his relief at seeing the impresario on the doorstep had been short lived. The dread that gripped him upon Max's departure, however, was nothing compared to the sheer panic that had frozen his heart when it had been Landa standing on the threshold of his home not half an hour earlier.

Of all the people that could've been calling on Maria that very morning, the colonel was without a doubt the worst of them. What Landa was hoping to achieve from his visit remained unclear, but regardless of whether it was an amorous meeting or a malicious one, Georg didn't think he could bear it. For how long would Maria be able to avoid the wolf's advances without raising suspicion? The thought of his wife being subjected to Landa's touch made him seethe with rage, but the alternative - being on the receiving end of his _violence_ \- was even more disturbing.

"Shall we?" came Landa's purr from below as he gestured for Maria to rejoin him in the drawing room. They disappeared from sight once again and Georg wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his promise of remaining hidden. His feet itched with the need to move, to break into a run and hurl himself down the staircase in pursuit of-

All of a sudden the thought died in his head when, quite without warning, a hand of steel wrapped around his mouth from behind and he was suddenly yanked forcefully backwards. Fear immediately sparked through his veins and he flailed helplessly as his assailant dragged him into the darkness of the governess' room behind them. Wrestling with all his might, Georg eventually managed to slip free and whirled around on the spot, his fist drawn back in a gesture of attack - but the punch remained suspended in mid air, as his eyes focused on the intruder through the shadows.

"Georg, calm down!" Max panted, palms raised in surrender, "it's just me!"

Mind still reeling, Georg had half a mind to punch his friend square in the face anyway, just for his impertinence.

"What the _Christ_ is going on!" He spat, lowering his fist while still being careful to keep his voice down, "How the hell did you get in here?!"

"The very same way you did," the impresario revealed defensively, pointing through the darkness toward the open window over at the other side of the room. Positively livid, Georg opened his mouth to chastise the impresario, but the words lodged in his throat and his eyes bugged out of his head at the sight that suddenly greeted him. Right there in the open window, an unmistakable coif of blonde hair suddenly appeared - and its owner proceeded to drag herself none-too-elegantly through the frame, collapsing in an undignified heap of skirts on the floor below.

"For _goodness sake_ Max darling, my shoes are ruined!" Elsa fumed, hauling herself to her feet and gesturing to her mud-caked heels while simultaneously attempting to right her clothes, "was scrambling up the trellis _really_ necessary?!"

Straightening up and pulling a twig from her hair with apparent disgust, she clocked Georg for the first time since her unseemly entrance and her face spread into a relieved smile, "oh well done, you found him!" she trilled to the impresario happily, before her eyes narrowed at her former fiancee, "Close your mouth Georg, darling - it's unbecoming."

Georg abruptly shut his gaping jaw and sputtered through the first of many unanswered questions that were swimming around in his brain, "What the hell are _you_ doing here?!"

" _Charming_ as ever, I see!" Elsa bristled, thoroughly affronted, "it's lovey to see you too, by the way."

" _Elsa_.." came his low warning.

The socialite rolled her eyes but offered him an immediate explanation nonetheless, "I've been trying to get hold of Max about something urgent," she said unapologetically, "and when I had no luck, I decided to come straight here myself."

"From Vienna?" Georg asked, astonished.

"But of course darling, where else?" Elsa simpered, "I left the _bores_ to their own devices. This simply couldn't wait."

"I'll tell you what simply _can't wait_!" Georg growled, his surprise rapidly morphing into anger. How could this woman stand there so nonchalantly, practically forcing entry into his home without so much as a _mention_ of the hell she had quite knowingly been putting him through. She didn't even have the good grace to look ashamed of herself!

"I want an explanation, Elsa - right this minute!" He demanded angrily, "What the hell have you been playing at, forcing Maria to pose as some kind of-"

"There's no time for that now, Georg," Max interrupted gravely, a firm hand gripping his shoulder, "Landa knows."

"What?" Georg hissed, too busy glaring at his former fiancée from across the room to register what his friend had just told him.

"Landa's men intercepted a telegram from Elsa that was meant for Maria," the impresario revealed, "I think that young boy Rolf had something to do with it. The telegram didn't say anything _too_ detrimental, but the game is up. That's what we came here to tell you - Landa _knows_."

Cold fear instantly tore through Georg's body, the remaining breath syphoning from his lungs. Surely it wasn't possible! If Landa knew, then why hadn't he confronted Maria the second he'd crossed the threshold? The only possible explanation that Georg could think of was that the colonel, like a snake on the hunt, was merely biding his time. Maria had unwittingly crawled into the heart of the spider's web - and the spider himself was merely toying with her, waiting for the opportune moment in which to devour his unsuspecting prey.

After twenty years in the navy, Georg had experienced so much horror that he was rarely ever gripped by fear anymore. Most of the time he considered himself rather unflappable - and even in the most life-threatening of situations he'd always managed to keep a cool head, doing whatever was necessary to keep himself and his crewmen safe. Now however, unbridled panic had him clutching desperately for the nearest piece of furniture in order to prevent his legs from buckling beneath him.

"Christ," he rasped, stomach churning, "Landa's down there with Maria as we speak!"

"We know," Elsa interjected urgently, "Max just tried to warn her, but he didn't count on Hans already being here. I've known that man for many years Georg, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that we need to get Maria out of there. _Now_."

All the blood drained from Georg's face as another panicked thought suddenly occurred to him, making him feel sick with apprehension.

"My God. The children..." he murmured, thinking of his unsuspecting brood curled up in their beds, "what about the _children_?"

"Don't worry about them," Max said firmly, "Elsa has organised everything."

Words uncharacteristically failing him, Georg turned to the socialite with questioning eyes, silently demanding reassurance - and Elsa was apparently more than happy to give it to him.

"When I first found out that we'd been compromised, I got in touch with the Reverend Mother at Nonnberg," she explained, as though the Mother Abbess was one of her closest gossiping companions and contacting her for a favour was nothing out of the ordinary, "she's going to give you all refuge. And then when it's deemed safe enough, you can use the caretaker's car to drive over the border."

Who in God's name was this woman? Georg asked himself in utter astonishment. During the summer she'd spent with his family in Aigen, Elsa Shraeder had been the perfect hostess, to be sure - charming, witty, graceful, demure, polite. Without any effort whatsoever, she'd made a place for herself by his side as an elegant though somewhat subservient partner - though of course it hadn't been enough for him in the end. Unlike Maria though, she'd never been the type to openly challenge him - instead favouring the airs and graces expected of a lady in her position.

Even when she'd suspected him of having feelings for the governess, she'd feigned ignorance right until the very end in favour of her pride - ducking out gracefully and with very little fuss when it'd eventually become clear she was fighting a losing battle. Indeed - as a woman who often did everything in her power to _avoid_ confrontation, Elsa Shraeder was the last person in the world Georg would suspect of espionage against the Nazi regime. Now though, it was impossible to deny that she was a woman very much in command, a world away from the Viennese salons in which Georg had believed her to be firmly ensconced.

"I'll wake the children now," Max hurried, very much in military mode himself, "I won't tell them anything that's going to make them worry, I'll just get them ready. Elsa and I will take them to my car while you get Maria to safety."

"And how am I supposed to do that?!" Georg retorted incredulously, with all the petulance of a teenage boy, "pluck her out from right under Landa's nose?"

"You'll do whatever you _have_ to do!" came Elsa's sharp command, in a tone of voice that Georg would never have associated with the aristocrat he remembered from two years ago, "get Maria to your car and we'll head to the abbey together. The Secret Service will take care of the rest."

"Fine!" Georg acquiesced, having neither the time nor the patience to argue with them. Every second that ticked by was another second wasted, another second in which Landa could strike. It didn't bear thinking about, what the colonel might be capable of doing in a fit of rage - and he wasn't going to wait around in order to find out. He did however, have one more thing to say.

"If he so much as lays a finger on her," he snarled, raising a warning finger at his two conspirators, "I'll have _both_ your heads."

* * *

"You're very quiet liebling," Landa cooed curiously, cocking his head to the side with a little smirk, "Do I make you nervous?"

Maria forced a witless laugh from her lips, " _Should_ I be nervous, Hans?" She flirted back coyly, looking at him from under her lashes, despite the bile rising in her throat.

A dark chuckle bubbled from the colonel's chest as he reached for his teacup again and raised it in a silent toast to her, "in _my_ company?" He winked, "always, mein Shatzi."

"You're incorrigible," she trilled, hating herself for the simpering sound of her own voice.

Her head was still swimming with the aftermath of Max's unexpected visit and she wondered not only whether the impresario had understood her hidden message, but also whether Landa had somehow deciphered it as well. Even while sitting so close to him on the sofa, it was impossible to read his face, for he was a closed book - often speaking in riddles in order to keep his real motives hidden. In quite the opposite way however, Maria felt as though he could read every single thought flitting through her mind, his coal-black eyes cutting into her like those of a hawk descending on a rabbit.

"Charming fellow, that Herr Detweiler," he commented scathingly, in a way that suggested he thought the exact opposite held true, "does he often call upon you first thing in the morning?"

"Uncle Max?" She gave what she hoped was a flippant wave of the hand, "He's just concerned about the children after the storm, that's all. They really do adore him, you know."

Landa's lips curled into a wolfish smile that made her skin prickle with anxiety, "the little _dears_ ," he sneered insincerely, "Yes, I'm sure they'll miss their uncle Max _terribly_."

Maria frowned in confusion, "Er.. _miss_ him?"

"Yes," Landa purred smugly, depositing his empty cup on the nearest table and knitting his hands together atop his knee as though he were a guest at a tea party, "I'm having both Herr Detweiler _and_ your ex-husband called to Bremerhaven before the month is through. Their skills and expertise are needed urgently."

The news was delivered with the most casual of demeanours, but for Maria it felt as though the earth was bottoming out beneath her. Almost instantly, her heart twisted like a mangled lump of rotting flesh, making it hard for her to breathe.

"Bremerhaven?" She managed to choke, biting back the tears that burned her windpipe, "Wh..what an honour."

"Yes, it is," Landa agreed without an ounce of remorse, studying his nails in apparent boredom, "the _highest_ honour, in fact. Though somehow I don't think your ex-husband will see it as such..."

As quickly as Maria's heart had flattened, it began hammering against her ribs again.

"Whatever do you mean?" She feigned ignorance, pulse thundering, "He and I may have our fair share of differences. But he's a keen supporter of the Reich, just as I am-"

"Ah ah _ahhh_ ," Landa chuckled, silencing her immediately with the raise of a teasing finger, "Yet again you underestimate me, mein Schatzi!" His eyes gleamed with unmistakable amusement, "Don't forget, as a detective, it's my job to notice _everything_! The reluctance behind a pledge of allegiance, for example. The choke of a lie on someone's lips. The quiver of an unsteady hand..."

Quite without warning the smile left his face, a menacing shadow darkened his features and his eyes - obsidian black with unbridled malice - slithered sickeningly slowly down to her throat.

"Even that curious bruise on your neck... " he murmured murderously, "A parting gift from your husband, perhaps?"

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 **A/N: ahh I know, another cliffhanger! But it was the only logical place to end it without the chapter being way too long. I'll try and be quick with the next one!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: thanks for my birthday wishes and your reviews you lovely people!**

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 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE POCKET**

" _Ah ah ahhh," Landa chuckled, silencing her immediately with the raise of a teasing finger, "Yet again you underestimate me, mein Schatzi!" His eyes gleamed with unmistakable amusement, "Don't forget, as a detective, it's my job to notice everything! The reluctance behind a pledge of allegiance, for example. The choke of a lie on someone's lips. The quiver of an unsteady hand..."_

 _Quite without warning the smile left his face, a menacing shadow darkened his features and his eyes - obsidian black with unbridled malice - slithered sickeningly slowly down to her throat._

" _Even that curious bruise on your neck... " he murmured murderously, "A parting gift from your husband, perhaps?"_

White hot panic sparked through Maria's veins and instinctively her hand flew to her neck, to a spot that remained tender in the aftermath of her husband's frenzied affections.

" _Bingo_.." Landa hissed meaningfully, her horrified silence all the proof he required.

"Hans," she swallowed, her voice shriller then she intended, "it's not what you th-"

" _Do_ forgive me for interrupting you mein Shatz, but before you finish your little fib, would you please be so kind as to reach into my jacket pocket and tell me what you discover there?" With a jut of his chin, he gestured downward to the side pocket of the SS uniform he was wearing.

The abrupt change in topic jarred Maria, leaving her stuttering for words that refused to form on her lips. She'd expected a violent outburst, an aggressive altercation - or at least a thorough dressing down. But instead he merely waited patiently for her to follow his basic instruction. Her first instinct was to make a run for it, but his disturbing good humour left her temporarily paralysed. Her distress must've been evident on her face however, because he looked immensely pleased with himself.

"Come now, leibling," he encouraged, jostling the lapel of the thick garment at her with a wolfish smirk, "I haven't hidden a mouse trap in there, if that's what you're concerned about. There's only _one_ rat in _this_ room..."

Crippled by the first stirrings of fear, Maria could do little else than obey him, reaching into the proffered pocket with quaking fingers. She could feel the heat of the colonel's body through the garment, the gentle rise and fall of his steady breathing - the only indication that this creature was human at all.

For interminable seconds she fumbled with clumsy but intimate proximity - much to his evident satisfaction, such was the fiendish delight in his eyes. At first, she found nothing of consequence and almost laughed in hysterical relief - until her fingertips closed around a small scrap of paper. Wordlessly, she pulled the note from its confines, but she didn't need to look at it to know exactly what it was. The horror curling at her insides and the hairs standing up on the back of her neck were indication enough of what shook like a leaf in her fist...

 _An intercepted telegram._

The floor seemed to disappear beneath her then, and she was falling, helpless, the contents of her stomach rising in her throat. She was a mouse, cornered by the cat. She knew it was over, and from the look of utter guilt on her face, it was a wonder that the Colonel was still a perfect measure of calm.

"What's that British expression?" he muttered with bemused triumph, "Something about reading between the lines..?"

Blue eyes locked with black then, and for a singular moment his boyish grin led Maria to believe that everything would somehow be alright. But deep down she knew better. With a humourless scoff, she threw her hands in the air in a shrug of bitter acceptance - her last-ditch attempt at feigning nonchalance.

"Well?" she challenged fiercely, shaking her head as though at a loss as to how to deal with their apparent quandary, "What do we do now, colonel?"

He straightened in his seat, taking a deep, measured breath. The pause that followed was so sickeningly tense that she could hear the tick of the grandfather clock out in the hallway. Could see the grin disappear from his features. Could witness his pupils dilate with mounting fury - until all of a sudden he was launching towards her, with the twisted howl of an enraged monster.

Before she even knew what was happening his massive body had knocked her to the ground with all the force of a torpedo, his thighs anchoring her beneath him like two iron bars welding her to the earth. Instantly she tried to scream, clawing at his purpling face and neck - but fingers as large and rough as serpents wrapped themselves around her throat, squeezing the remaining air from her lungs.

Terror pounded in her brain as her organs struggled for oxygen, her feet kicking out helplessly at nothing but thin air. She could feel his broken skin collecting under her raking fingernails the more she attempted to scramble for freedom. If anything though, her struggle seemed to spur him on, his teeth bared in a maniacal sneer and the veins bulging from his forehead, his face turning puce in his effort to crush her windpipe.

The sounds of her own desperate gurgles filled her ears, the blood from the cuts she'd inflicted oozed and congealed down his twisted face until it stained his teeth, making him look like the devil himself looming over her. But still he did not relent, and his strength was everything she might've expected from a fearsome SS colonel. No matter how much she tried, she could not move a muscle.

"Traitor!" He snarled through gritted teeth, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth, the tendons in his neck straining so hard they looked like they might burst through the flesh. Her head swam, her vision blurred, her pathetic flailing slowed as her body started to give up. Fleeting visions of the children flashed through her mind's eyes - Gretl's sweet laugh, Kurt's boyish dimples, Brigitta's curious gaze. Leisl, Friedrich, Louisa, Marta - all seven of them soon to be made motherless once again.

And then she thought of Georg. Her husband, her light in a darkened world. After weeks of being torn apart by circumstance, they had managed to find their way back to one another - but it had all been for nothing. She would never see him again, she knew. Her last image from this earth would be the contorted face of the murderer bent over her.

The rest of the world began to ebb away as she let herself succumb to the comfort of unconsciousness, the pain no longer seeping into her bones. But then, by some miracle, the clamp around her throat gave way, the weight of Landa's body was lifted from hers, and her burning lungs began to inhale mouthful after mouthful of air, dragging her back into the room. Coughing on sweet, crisp oxygen she was vaguely aware of a commotion nearby and when her bloodshot eyes came into focus, it was to discover her husband - half crazed with might and fury - wrestling her attacker to the ground.

"Georg!" she tried to rasp, but her windpipe refused to cooperate - and he wouldn't have heard her anyway, for the two men were locked in such a violent tangle of limbs that it was impossible to determine where one of them ended and the other began.

Something savage and untameable had erupted in Georg's veins the second he'd entered the drawing room. The sight of his wife's limp body crushed beneath her aggressor, her eyes bulging from their sockets - it'd sparked a clash of fear and rage so potent that he could think of nothing else but tearing Landa limb from limb. And now that he'd managed to pin the vermin underneath him, he couldn't claw at him fast enough. The sickening crack of sinew and bone could be heard as his fist collided with the colonel's face, but Landa gave as good as he got, his iron grip curling around Georg's jaw and pushing hard in an attempt to wrench him off.

A twisted laugh broke from the colonel's mouth, making him look positively insane, "how does it make you feel captain?" He grunted, his fingers squeezing Georg's jaw so tightly it felt as though it might break, "you're risking your own neck for a common whore."

Slamming an elbow sideways into Landa's extended arm, Georg sent the colonel's grip buckling, leaving him free to deliver another blow to the devil's bloodied face with all his might. The impact had its desired effect, for his foe immediately fell limp - and Georg took the opportunity to scramble frantically to his feet. There was no telling how long Landa would remain unconscious for and so he had to move fast.

Without a second's delay, he flew to his wife's side, gathering her into his arms. She was visibly shaken and her neck was red raw with the imprint of Landa's fingers, but she was breathing and she was conscious. Thank heaven.

"Oh God, Maria are you alright?!" He near sobbed, chest heaving, "I should've got here sooner, I should've never let you.. what happened?!"

Rubbing her throat and nodding in reassurance, Maria managed to rasp a few words, "he knew _everything_ , Georg."

"I know, darling," Georg pulled her to him and cradled her against his body, stroking her hair, "I know. We need to leave this house, right this minute!"

"But the children.."

"They're safe," he told her, "with Elsa and Max. But I'll explain all that in the car. Are you able to stand?"

Trusting him with her life, she gripped his forearms and let him pull her gently to her feet. Relieved to see that some of the colour was coming back to her face, Georg held on to her tightly, offering her a tender smile of reassurance. She returned the gesture weakly, but then her eyes locked on something over his left shoulder and immediately her face marred with unmistakable horror.

He knew, even before Maria's harrowed cries of warning, that Landa was back on his feet. But there was no time to even turn around before he felt the cold butt of a pistol pressing into the back of his skull. Instinctively, he froze.

"Ha," Landa chortled triumphantly in his ear, "caught you flinching!"

"Hans, _please_!" came Maria's desperate cry - but the colonel merely gave a bark of incredulous laughter.

"All the weeks you spent in my company and you _still_ mistake me for a man capable of mercy?" He shook his head in mock disappointment, "Oh leibling.. I was ready to kill you with my _bare hands_ , for goodness sake. But I suppose a bullet will have to do."

There was the audible click of the hammer being pulled back and Georg's eyes immediately locked with his wife's.

"Maria.." came his low warning - and he gestured tentatively with his fingers to the open door behind him, urging her to leave the room lest she see something that no innocent person ought to see. His command went unheeded however, for she stood stubbornly firm despite her obvious distress, refusing to break his gaze.

"Turn around," Landa spat at the back of his victim's head, "I want to watch the life leave your eyes when I pull the trigger."

Holding his wife's gaze solidly, Georg gave her a barely perceptible nod of reassurance, crossing his fingers in front of his chest so that only she could see. _It will all be alright_ , he told her with his eyes - though in truth he couldn't possibly see a way out of the mess they found themselves in.

"Move!" Landa barked, jabbing the gun impatiently against Georg's skull again. Slowly, cautiously, Georg did as instructed, turning on the spot with his palms raised slightly in a gesture of surrender. Captain and colonel faced one another, the crushing silence interminable as Landa pressed the cold metal firmly between his victim's eyes.

"It's a pity really," he trilled casually, as though they were discussing something as trivial as the weather, "the Fuhrer will be most disappointed that we couldn't put you to better use."

Georg gave a bitter scoff, "I think I'd gladly choose death over pledging loyalty to a psychopath."

Landa only rolled his eyes, "How very cowardly of you."

"I prefer to think of it as _honourable_."

Despite his air of measured calm, Georg's blood thrummed through his veins, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He'd come close to death many times before, but in every single one of those events, he'd had some level of control over his own fate. He'd been able to do something to alter his path. Now however, he was as helpless as a child.

Time seemed to stand still then, as he waited for Landa to pull the trigger, Maria's gentle sobs the only sound that filled the room. He was about to close his eyes, to brace himself against the impact - if he would even feel one - when suddenly, he spotted something over Landa's shoulder that made his heart soar. There in the doorway, moving into the room on feather-light feet with a silencing finger pressed to his lips, was Max.

Quick as a cat, the impresario moved to the drinks cabinet in the corner and picked up the sturdy whiskey decanter that stood atop it, testing the weight of the object with his hands. Georg fought to keep his expression neutral lest Landa were to notice his reaction and spin round on the spot - but he needn't have worried. The only indication that anything might be amiss was Maria's sudden intake of breath.

"Hush!" Landa hissed at her, oblivious to the impresario's calculated approach behind him, "your tears won't save you."

Georg watched, adrenaline coursing through his veins, as Max crept as close to Landa as he dared, took one last longing look at the decanter in his hands and the expensive amber liquid it contained, before raising it high above his head and bringing it crashing down upon the colonel's skull. The deafening sound of shattering glass filled the room, thick splinters showering to the floor. Instantly, Landa's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his pistol falling forgotten beside his limp body.

Studying his handiwork, Max bent over the unconscious body and sighed at the sight of the amber liquid stains seeping into the carpet. Shaking his head forlornly, he looked up at a horrified Georg and Maria, giving a defeated shrug.

"That was a damn good vintage as well!" he grumbled.

 **A/N: a few of the quotes were taken/amended from Inglorious Basterds, I own nothing etc etc**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas! Some of this chapter is taken from my other story Sound of Silence.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE ESCAPE**

The silence stretched on for all eternity as the three culprits stared down in horror at the crumpled heap at their feet, the shards of glass and whiskey-soaked carpet framing the evidence of their crime.

"Max!" Georg managed to splutter, "What the hell have you done!"

The impresario's jaw dropped open in apparent disbelief, "I've saved your _life_!" He insisted, thoroughly affronted, "That's what I've done!"

"And what exactly are we supposed to do with this mess?!" Georg retorted, gesturing to the motionless colonel as though he were some mud that the impresario had trailed in on his boots.

"Is he breathing?" Maria asked cautiously, sinking onto her haunches to take a closer look.

"Leave him," Max commanded sharply, "Breathing or not, this place will be swarming with Nazis before long. We have to go. _Now_."

"But what about the staff?" Maria implored, rising to her feet resolutely, "We can't just leave them. They'll get arrested for something _we've_ done!"

She looked to Georg for support and he nodded in agreement, his brow marred with a heavy frown, "she's right," he told Max reluctantly, "We can't abandon them. They'll be done for."

The impresario stared at the pair of them as though they'd sprouted second heads.

"You're going to risk your life for the likes of _Franz_?!" he beseeched incredulously.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Georg fought for patience. They had precious little time and he didn't want to spend it arguing about the relative worth of human life.

"Look," he instructed slowly, as though talking to a squabbling Gretl and Marta, "Maria, you're going to go with Elsa and the children to the abbey now. The Reverend Mother is expecting you. Max," he turned to his friend, "you and I will stay behind to make sure the staff are safe. Then we'll head to the abbey together in _my_ car."

"But-" Maria and Max retorted simultaneously.

"No buts!" Georg interrupted firmly, "if we move now, we can still evade them," hurriedly, he took one of his wife's hands in his and added, "I promise darling, we'll be right behind you."

* * *

The Reverend Mother paced nervously up and down the length of her office. Baroness Schraeder and Herr Detweiler were late. Everything was planned, all the details were taken care of; the caretaker's car was ready and waiting with a full tank of gas. The only thing missing was the Von Trapps themselves. There was no reason as to why they might be delayed. It was unlikely that anyone would've discovered their plot, or even suspect anything out of the ordinary - but Colonel Hans Landa was a very intelligent man. And with that knowledge came the possibility of danger.

Suddenly the front bell rang shrilly through the walls of the abbey and the elderly woman almost dashed down the corridor, finally reaching the gate and ushering a crestfallen Maria through the entranceway. Seven Von Trapp children followed, headed up by an alert Baroness Shraeder. The Reverend Mother's relief was short lived, however, for it was clear that something was very wrong.

"Where are Captain Von Trapp and Herr Detweiler?" she breathed, almost dreading the answer.

"They stayed behind to warn the staff," the baroness replied, keeping her voice down and casting a concerned eye towards a stricken Maria who was busying herself with the children, "Landa knew everything. He attacked them both. But Max got there just in time."

The Reverend Mother didn't mask her horror but nodded gravely nonetheless, "I was afraid something like this would happen."

"We must wait for them here," Elsa murmured, "they can't be far behind. They have Georg's car."

"Are any of you in immediate danger, my child?" The mother abbess questioned, her brow furrowed with concern.

Sighing, Elsa checked again that she was out of Maria's earshot.

"It's only a matter of time before Landa's men discover what we've done," she admitted to the older woman gravely, "I fear the abbey is the first place they'll look."

* * *

Georg paced relentlessly in his study dressed in his travel attire as Max watched him in silence from the corner of the room. They'd woken and dismissed all of the staff as quickly as possible, telling them simply that the Nazis were on their way and it was no longer safe. Those who had homes nearby had packed their essentials and gone back to their families, while those who had nowhere to go had been given a generous amount of money to give them a fighting chance. None of them had asked questions and Georg hadn't given them anything other than minimal instructions to follow.

"For goodness sake Georg, you'll wear a hole in the carpet," Max exclaimed, pouring a generous whiskey and handing it to his restless friend.

"Forgive me if I seem a little on edge Max," Georg retorted sarcastically, knocking the liquid back, pulling on his jacket and tossing Max his own.

"Everything's gone smoothly so far, the children are safe with Maria at the abbey and we'll be out of the country before lunch," Max replied casually, as though running through the agenda for an evening rendez vous.

Georg only scowled.

"What time is it?" He asked, resuming his pacing.

"It's ten minutes later than the last time you asked," Max rolled his eyes.

Georg nodded curtly and went into the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a box of matches. He struck one alight and threw it into the fireplace where piles of papers and documentation were bundled together for burning.

"Is that the last of it?" Max asked.

"Yes," Georg stated, "they won't be able to trace me or get at my money.. Or Agathe's."

"Good."

"Do you have everything?"

"The clothes on my back, my wallet. My passport. What else do refugees need?" Max quipped, draining his glass.

" _Refugees_.." Georg muttered bitterly, shaking his head as he watched the flames engulf the documents. He was being driven from his home by a crazed Nazi bastard who would most likely make it his life's ambition to watch the world burn. It made the bile rise in his throat.

Without warning, the sound of a fist hammering on the front door reverberated around the villa and the two men jumped in alarm, fixing each other with a panicked stare.

"Expecting company?" Max hissed as they jumped into action, Georg stamping out the fire with a booted foot and snatching the car keys from their place atop the desk.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Georg retorted uncertainly, more to convince himself than anyone else. But the reassurance behind his words fell flat when their visitor issued a vicious command.

"Open this door!" the voice bellowed, followed rapidly by something heavy smashing against the wood with a single sickening thud. Georg's stomach curled with panic. He'd know that voice anywhere - and by the look on Max's face, the impresario recognised it too.

"Zeller.." he rasped.

The two men moved instantly, slipping from the study and running across the hall until they'd made it up the stairs. They pressed themselves against the wall in the shadows beyond the banisters, breathing heavily - and Georg was immediately grateful that they'd managed to dismiss the staff just in time. Holding their breaths, they heard the sickening splinter of wood, watched helplessly as the front door burst open by force and several Nazi soldiers spilled over the threshold, their booted feet clicking intimidatingly against the marble floor. Heading up the ambush was none other than Wolfgang Zeller.

"Search every room!" The Nazi rat bellowed, as Georg heard the sound of various doors being opened and closed, the blood boiling in his veins as he listened helplessly to the soldiers searching his home.

"Sir!" a young Nazi suddenly bellowed from below, beckoning his commanding officer towards the drawing room, "I've found something."

Georg craned his neck to watch the horror unfold below - and instantly recognised the young lad as the telegram boy that Leisl had taken such an interest in. The little cretin's eyes were wide with excitement as he called Zeller closer and the two men peered into the drawing room to discover exactly what Max and Georg had left there.

"Dear God..." he heard Zeller curse under his breath, "Medic!"

Dutifully, one of his soldiers scurried out of the throng and clicked his heels together at Zeller's side.

"Check if he's breathing!" Zeller commanded, pointing into the drawing room, "Look for a pulse! And you - " he grabbed another passing youth in uniform, "find me a telephone! The rest of you, keep searching," he scuffed Rolf on the back of the head to kickstart the boy into action, "That's an order!"

Georg instantly felt Max's hand grip at his shoulder and his friend wordlessly gestured with his head for them to retreat further down the corridor and into the governess' bedroom. Nodding his agreement, Georg followed - and they managed to slip into the room unseen. As soon as the door was closed however, Georg rounded on the impresario with eyes narrowed in accusation.

"How did they get here so quickly!" He whisper-shouted, moving frantically to the window and looking down at the trellis to check their descent would still be safe.

"How the hell should I know!" Max hissed.

Georg whirled on the spot and jabbed an accusing index finger into the impresario's chest, "well for starters, Landa wouldn't even have come here if it wasn't for _your_ intercepted telegram! Hand me that pillow will you?" he requested out of the blue, pointing to the bed.

" _Elsa's_ intercepted telegram," Max corrected, mindlessly passing said pillow as they both turned back to the window in preparation for their escape.

"Either way," Georg grumbled, wedging the pillow over the windowsill for comfort before swinging one leg over the ledge, "this entire mess has led right back to _you_ , every single-"

"Not another move," a shaky voice suddenly commanded from behind them, making both men freeze in their tracks, "or I'll.. I'll _shoot_."

Head snapping up in panic, Georg was confronted by the sight of the young boy Rolf in the doorway, clutching a gun in his quaking fist and looking as though he might burst into tears. He'd snuck up on the two of them like a thief in the night - but then again, he and Max had been so busy bickering they wouldn't have even heard the door open.

Interminable seconds passed as the three men regarded each other, trying to predict who would make the next move. Shifting with all the caution he could muster, Georg lowered himself from the window ledge, warning Max off with a quick gesture of the hand as he took a calculated step closer to the boy.

" _Rolf_.." he murmured warningly, lifting his hands slightly to show he meant no harm, "you're only a boy.." another careful step, "You don't really belong to them."

"Stay where you are!" Rolf demanded, fear contorting his face - but Georg ignored him, edging closer yet again.

"Come away with us," he hissed conspiratorially, "Before it's too late."

"Not another step," the boy quivered, holding the gun higher, "I'll kill you!"

"You give that to me, Rolf," Georg insisted, moving within a few feet of his assailant.

"Did you hear me?" Rolf implored, his voice trembling, "I'll _kill_ you!"

" _Rolf_.." came Georg's final warning - and he managed to close the gap between them in a final stride, gripping the boy's wrist in his iron fist and wresting the weapon from his flimsy fingers. Shoulders sagging in defeat, Rolf hung his head in apparent shame and Georg stepped back safely with the retrieved weapon, shaking his head in disgust.

"You'll never be one of them..."

He wasn't sure what'd made him utter such a sentence - but it was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Rolf responded with great offence, his head snapping up and his chest puffing out in bold defiance before delivering his final betrayal, "Lieutenant!" He bellowed like a singing lark, blowing his whistle to alert his superiors, " _lieutenant_!"

Immediately, shouts were heard and thundering footsteps echoed across the hallway downstairs as Zeller's men made their way to the governess' room. Adrenaline coursed through Georg's veins as his body engaged in fight or flight. Hurriedly, he hauled Max across the room by the lapels and gave him a leg up onto the windowsill, shoving him through the tight gap without a single hesitation.

"Go!" He bellowed, giving his friend a hand down as Max dropped obediently out of sight. Quick as a flash, Georg scrambled after him, lowering his foot out of the window in a blind search for the trellis below. To prevent an unwanted pursuit, he kept the gun pointed firmly at Rolf - but he needn't have bothered. The boy was so paralysed with fear that he posed very little threat.

Within seconds however, Zeller and several of his men appeared in the doorway, shoving a useless Rolf out of the way, "move aside boy!" the Nazi snarled, wrenching the pistol from his own belt and taking aim.

A deafening gunshot was fired, the bullet hitting the window frame near Georg's head and blowing the wood to pieces with a splintering crack. Ducking to avoid the spray of debris, he momentarily lost his footing and was forced to cling to the windowsill to avoid a nasty fall. Soldiers swarmed the room then, and he felt a rough hand grab at his wrist as Zeller shouted orders repeatedly about wanting him alive. He resisted with all his might, wrenching his wrist free from their clutching hands - but his release came at a price. The force of his resistance made him lose his grip, and before he knew it he was falling the hefty distance to the ground, landing beside Max with a heavy thud and a pained groan.

"Are you alright?" The impresario implored, hauling Georg to his feet.

"After him!" They heard Zeller bark through the open window, "Outside. _Now_!"

"Come on," Georg spluttered, "The car is just around corner!"

Shouts could already be heard close by as the soldiers neared the side of the villa and Georg knew they didn't have much time left. Grabbing Max by the scruff, both men broke into a run across the gardens, scrambling through the orchard towards the back gate where Georg had parked many hours earlier. Gravel flew out from under his feet as he skidded to a stop at the driver's door and hurled himself over it into the seat, throwing the car into gear. Max was only a few feet behind him, but the Nazis were already hot on their heels, several of the soldiers coming into view as they rounded a corner and began sprinting towards them.

"Oh Christ!" the impresario exclaimed, the engine barely turning over before he was throwing himself headfirst into the passenger's side, "Drive, drive, _drive_!"

Georg didn't need telling twice. Slamming his foot down on the accelerator, the wheels spun in protest, dust and the stench of burning rubber filling the air. It wasn't until sometime later, when they were racing down the country road - away from their pursuers, away from their _home_ \- that he finally allowed himself to draw breath.

* * *

 **A/N: we're getting there slowly! Thanks again for all your reviews.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I wanted to get the next chapter up before New Year's Eve so it's slightly shorter than some of the others! Thanks again to those who are still with me!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE CHASE**

"Ha!" Max barked triumphantly, turning back around in his seat to face the road ahead, trees blurring past the car on either side as they whipped through the country lanes, "I think we've lost them, you know!"

Georg only pursed his lips, gripping the steering wheel tighter, "I don't think we're out of the woods just yet," he gritted, taking a sharp bend a little too fast, but recovering control of the vehicle quickly.

Twisting around in his seat again and peering over his shoulder, the impresario observed the country lane stretching out behind them. It was completely deserted, save for the few tyre marks Georg had left in his wake when abusing the accelerator.

"It looks like the coast is clear to me!" Max chuckled with gleeful arrogance, "Besides, _we_ have the advantage. You know these roads like the back of your hand."

"I imagine Rolf does too, after the number of telegrams he's delivered to my door on that blasted bicycle," Georg snarled bitterly, anger blossoming at the thought of how close he'd allowed the boy to get to his eldest daughter, "that _little_ -"

" _Arschgeige_?" the impresario finished for him bluntly.

"Well, _actually_ I was going to say-"

" _Sohn einer Hündin_?"

Despite himself and the dire situation they found themselves in, Georg chuckled, his anger gradually dissipating in favour of good humour, "I was thinking something perhaps a _little_ more obscene than that."

"Ah," Max grinned knowingly, " _ein kleiner ficker_ , then!"

Laughing fully now, Georg felt his mood instantly lift. As immature and outrageous as Max Detweiler could be at times, he couldn't deny the sponge always managed to lighten a sombre mood. In truth, it was a relief and a pleasure simply to share a joke with a good friend in the shadow of such dark circumstances.

"You know, Georg," Max broke the silence wistfully some time later, gesturing between them, "I've missed this."

Georg frowned in confusion, eyes still fixed to the road, " _This,_ Max?"

"Yes. This," the impresario repeated, " _Us_. The adventures we used to have. Fighting foes. Escaping danger. Two young scallywags let loose on the open ocean," he chortled nostalgically, "We didn't have a _clue_ , did we!"

While Georg couldn't quite bring himself to refer to the last hour of his life as an _adventure_ , he did have to admit that he and Max had plenty of experience when it came to getting themselves into sticky situations there seemed no way out of. On many a night during their wilder youths at sea, they'd gone out looking for trouble, wreaking havoc in ports they'd most likely never see again, chasing fine liquor and finer women. Regardless of the fact that their lives had been on the line, it'd felt like a simpler time back then. With everything to gain and nothing to lose. Now, with the enemy in hot pursuit, it seemed as though hardly anything had changed in all of twenty years. The key difference however, was a colossal one: it was no longer only _their_ lives at stake.

"I don't think we have a clue now either, Max," he replied gravely, "the sooner we get to the abbey and meet Maria and the children, the better."

Nodding pensively, the impresario said no more, apparently lost to his own thoughts. For quite some time they sat in an easy silence, though the air was still thick with inevitable apprehension. It wasn't until they reached a crossroads some minutes later however, that Max suddenly broke the quietude.

"Scheiße!" He shouted out of nowhere, bolting ramrod straight and squinting down the lane to their left, the blood draining from his face, " _Scheiße_!"

"What?!" Georg panicked, instantly alert, "What is it!"

But the impresario had barely formed a reply before Georg spotted the source of his distress, his own stomach dropping into his shoes. There in the distance, darting towards them down the adjacent lane in a cloud of dust, was a black car that he instantly recognised. On first glance it could've been _any_ old vehicle - but the red flags and Swastika emblems on the bonnet, flapping frantically in the wind, left very little room for doubt.

"How the _hell_ did they find us?!" Georg roared, throwing the car into reverse and sending it careering backwards down the road they'd just come down. Wrenching the steering wheel as far round as it would go, he spun the convertible a full 180 degrees with a sickening screech of the tyres, before slamming it into first. Within the blink of an eye they were off again, speeding away from the crossroads as fast as time and space would allow.

"It's no _use_ , Georg!" Max yelled over the white noise of the roaring engine, clinging desperately to his fedora before it flew off his head, "they've already spotted us!"

Mouth set in a determined line, Georg didn't reply. Instead, he made a swift decision that would succeed in either saving or _breaking_ their reckless necks. There was really only one thing for it. Without hesitation, he swerved violently off the road, sending the car hurtling through the thicket of tall trees that lined the country lane.

" _Jesus, Mary and Joseph_ , what do you think you're doing?!" Max screeched, but still he received no response, so fixated Georg was with his current task.

The steering wheel fought back angrily against his palms as the car juddered and bounced over thickets like a tin can hurtling down a hill. He'd never admit it - not to a single soul - but he'd long since lost control of the Mercedes and was simply praying for a miracle, wrenching the steering wheel this way and that to narrowly avoid all the tree trunks that seemed to be sprouting up out of nowhere in their path.

Leaves, twigs and branches whipped at their faces from all angles. Max began choking violently on what Georg assumed was some kind of airborne insect. The car groaned and lurched and ricocheted off various woodland obstacles at high speed, until the sound of the protesting engine was eventually drowned out by Max's high-pitched screaming.

One last boulder caught the edge of the front wheel then and sent the steering wheel jerking out of Georg's grip, the car careering headlong towards a particularly thick fir tree. Within seconds, they found themselves engulfed by the dense foliage, everything going black and the vehicle coming to an abrupt and violent halt as it smashed into the trunk.

Everything was instantly still - and for a sickening moment, Georg waited for the inevitable pain of broken bones and torn skin to shoot through his body. But a quick pat down told him that, by some miracle, he was still very much in one piece. The cushion of the coniferous evergreen had apparently saved them from a nasty fate - and it seemed his passenger was still very much alive as well, for he was still shrieking like a banshee.

"Would you _shut up_!" Georg hissed, slapping a hand blindly over his passenger's mouth through the thicket of branches, "do you want to give us away?!"

Falling immediately silent, Max spluttered and spat impatiently through the gag of Georg's palm until it was removed from his face.

"If you don't want us to get caught you really shouldn't have crashed the car into a god forsaken _tree_!" He huffed.

"I crashed it deliberately," Georg retorted, receiving only an incredulous snort by way of response.

"I did!" He insisted, feeling for the door handle and attempting to barge the car door open, sending fir needles flying everywhere, "The car was never going to stop on its own. And besides," he added, swinging a leg free and wrenching himself out into the daylight, "it's way too conspicuous, they would've caught up with us in no time. We need to abandon the Mercedes and go the rest of the way on foot."

"On _foot_?!" Max protested, his voice muffled by the blanket of leaves and branches that engulfed him in his attempt to exit the passenger side. Some moments later he managed to burst free of the evergreen with an undignified _oomfph_ , the tree spewing him out as though he formed the remains of its breakfast.

"We _can't_ go on foot!" He whined, patting himself free of greenery and wrenching his fedora from where it hung pathetically on a nearby branch.

"Of course we can," Georg argued, pointing through a gap in the trees where the onion shaped dome of Nonnberg was just about visible in the distance, "look - we're nearly there. It'll just take a little longer than we first planned. The important thing is that we stay off the roads."

"Well that shouldn't be too difficult," Max grumbled sardonically, throwing one last look of longing at the ruined convertible half consumed by the fir tree they'd smashed into.

"Come on," Georg instructed, "let's get a move on. Before they find us."

And so they set off through the woods, trudging through bushes and squelching through mud until their boots and trousers were caked up to the shins. A few cuts and scrapes nicked at their forearms and faces, but the dome of Nonnberg drew ever closer, giving them the motivation they needed to put one foot in front of the other. Luckily, they met no resistance along the way - save for a particularly vicious little squirrel that had taken great satisfaction in dropping from the sky in the manner of a trapeze artist and landing unceremoniously on Max's head - much to Georg's fiendish delight.

"That really wasn't funny," the impresario scowled some minutes later, having successfully wrestled himself free of the creature, rubbing his sore scalp, "the little pest could've taken my eye out, you know."

Georg didn't even bother attempting to hide his snickers, "yes, perhaps the woodland creatures of Salzburg are in cahoots with Zeller and have a warrant out for your arrest?"

Grumbling unintelligibly, Max continued to trundle along behind him until they eventually reached a small clearing, close enough to the abbey that they could make a break for it and sneak around the back without being seen.

"It's too dangerous to simply wander up to the front gate," Georg explained, scoping out the route from their hidden position among the bushes to the back walls of the convent, "Zeller will no doubt have men on their way to search the abbey."

"And how exactly are we going to get in?" Max snorted, eyeing the towering walls with apprehension in his eyes.

Georg smirked as though enjoying a private joke, "climb, of course!"

And with that he burst from the bushes out into the deserted street, hurrying across the way towards the impenetrable fortress, ushering a gawping Max after him. Cursing under his breath, the impresario followed, until they were both safely hidden around the back of the abbey, craning their necks up at the impossible barricade of brick and mortar.

"No trellis this time," the impresario gulped, his brow marked with beads of sweat, "I don't know how you can _possibly_ think-"

"There's a broken part of the wall over there," Georg interrupted, pointing a few feet down the way, "there's a couple of loose bricks that stick out a bit. They make excellent foot holds."

Max's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How in the world do you know that?"

"Well.." Georg stammered, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. Sheepishly, he rubbed at the back of his ear, mumbling some form of intelligible excuse.

"My God," Max clocked, "you've scaled it before haven't you!"

Despite himself, Georg grinned conspiratorially, "Oh _alright_ , I used to sneak out here to see Maria during our engagement," he admitted, slapping the sturdy brick affectionately, "she told me she used to escape over this wall so she could go and visit her mountain without permission. But during the engagement, we found a much _better_ use for it."

Spluttering in utter indignation, Max looked as though he could hardly believe his ears.

"Do you mean to _tell me_ ," he began, outraged, "that you used to scale the walls of a _Benedictine abbey_ to cop a feel with your _ex-postulant_ fiancé?!"

Georg's eyes sparkled with the joy of fond memories.

"What was it she used to say to convince me?" He recalled, "ah yes... _the love of a man and a woman is holy too_ ," he gave a hapless shrug, "I was hardly going to refuse her!"

Max only rolled his eyes, "once a rake, _always_ a rake."

Chuckling whimsically to himself, Georg felt along the wall until he discovered the first hold, "this is the one," he muttered to himself, "here," he beckoned the impresario over impatiently, "I'll give you a leg up."

Muttering incredulously under his breath, Max acquiesced - though with some reluctance, placing his muddied left boot awkwardly in his friend's entwined hands and hoisting himself up the first hurdle. With a few firm instructions, he was able to climb the rest of the way, followed close behind by Georg as they made their way up the wall together.

"There's a bit of a jump down on the other side," Georg called, just a foot or two below him, "but we'll be just fine."

Nodding, Max managed to swing one leg over the top of the wall and waited for his partner in crime to do the same. Once Georg had finally joined him, they both abseiled over the edge together and dropped down onto solid ground without much difficulty.

"There we are!" Georg beamed triumphantly, straightening up and dusting off his trousers, "I told you. Easy as p-"

But the words immediately died in his throat when he was interrupted by the shrill peal of several ear-splitting screams. Whirling around on the spot in shock, the two men were mortified to discover a gaggle of petrified nuns staring at them in abject horror.

" _Bugger!"_ Max breathed, much to the outrage of their current audience.

"Blasphemy!" one nun cried, appalled.

"Devils!" Another hissed in terror, crossing herself.

" _Men_.." a young postulant exclaimed in apparent excitement, her eyes raking appreciatively over the two of them before an elderly nun fixed the girl with a sharp glare that immediately silenced her.

Finding himself utterly tongue-tied, Georg could only open and close his mouth stupidly like a goldfish, feeling like a teenager caught out after curfew. All the times he'd managed to scale this very wall undetected so that he could pay Maria a naughty visit and yet _this_ time he'd managed to drop smack bang in the middle of a superfluity of God's purist devotees. Facing Zeller and his men would've be less daunting than _this_.

"Gentlemen!" A sour-looking nun that Georg immediately recognised as Sister Berthe stepped out of the throng, steam practically coming out of her ears, "do you care to explain yourselves?! Or perhaps you'd prefer to save your excuses for the Reverend Mother!"

* * *

 **** **A/N: this one was fun to write! I hope it was as fun to read and took the edge off the tense previous chapters a little!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up! New Year got in the way of writing but we're nearing the end now.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE END**

Huddled in the sanctuary of the Reverend Mother's office alongside the children and Elsa, Maria couldn't help but feel on edge - though she put on a brave face so as not to frighten the youngest ones. Their questions had long since died away and now they only sat dutifully, quietly, casting her furtive glances while they awaited the Mother Abbess' return. But it didn't matter how well behaved her brood was being, nor how many reassuring smiles the baroness threw her way - the same question kept circulating in Maria's mind in a way that left her wringing her hands restlessly in her lap.

 _Where are they?_

They should've arrived by now, Maria considered over and over again. There was no reason as to why Georg and Max would be delayed - unless, heaven forbid, the unthinkable had happened. What if Landa was still alive and had managed to use his gun after all? What if the colonel's men had come in search of their superior? What if Georg had been arrested and was currently on his way to Bremerhaven under Nazi force? There were so many possibilities - all of them so awful that they left her feeling sick to her stomach - and so she refused to think about them anymore. It was just as well, because a sudden sound alerted her to the fact that she would soon have other things to worry about.

The bell of the abbey's front gate rang out like a taunt, piercing the thick silence and making them all jump out of their skin. Maria's heart both leapt and twisted all at once. Could it be Georg? she dared to hope. Though she quickly realised, with regret, that the chances of Captain Von Trapp being able to stroll up to the front gate of Nonnberg Abbey undetected were very slim. No, she told herself solemnly, her shoulders sagging - whoever was at the gate, it _wasn't_ Georg. She'd surely know, she'd surely feel it in her very bones if it was him.

Cupping a reassuring palm against a frightened Brigitta's cheek and gesturing for the other children to remain calm, she tried to follow her own advice and still her thrumming pulse. But then, quite without warning, the Reverend Mother came sweeping through the heavy wooden door, taking them all by surprise. Maria hadn't even heard the woman approaching.

"Come," the elderly nun summoned gravely but with unmistakable urgency, "we can't wait for them any longer. I have somewhere you can hide."

"Hide?" Maria swallowed - why did they need to _hide_? But the Reverend Mother only ushered them more emphatically. Without hesitation but with her stomach curling into knots, Maria herded the children together with Elsa's help, shepherding them through the door and encouraging them to keep quiet while following the Reverend Mother. Out in the corridors, the insistent call of the bell could be heard again, and sister Berthe materialised from the courtyard beyond, hurrying anxiously toward the source of the sound.

"Slowly! Slowly!" the Reverend Mother calmed and immediately the formidable nun reduced her pace, her expression a placid mask once again. Maria's chest tightened as she heard the sharp command of a harsh male voice beyond the abbey's entrance.

"Open this gate! Hurry up woman!"

Maria didn't get to hear Sister Berthe's response, nor did she have time to ascertain who was on the other side of the gate, for the Reverend Mother was leading them further and further out of earshot, until they eventually reached the courtyard. The scene that then met her eyes would've been comical if it wasn't for the fact that her heart leapt into her mouth in sheer relief. Her hand clutched at the Reverend Mother's arm to steady herself until she could catch her breath. Thank heavens! There in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by a circle of outraged nuns, looking incredibly sheepish and apologising profusely, were her husband and his lodger.

 _Georg_.

"Georg!" She cried, her voice completely alien to her as it carried through the air, muffled only by the sound of the children's own excited exclamations of "father!"And before she knew it she realised she was running towards him at the same speed she used to run when she'd lost track of time on her mountain, her feet carrying her entirely of their own accord. She watched as his dishevelled head snapped up in bewilderment, his bloodshot eyes focusing and then widening as he opened his arms to receive her.

And then she was in his embrace, burying her nose into his neck, breathing in the scent of him, pressing a kiss to his lips before she could stop herself - much to the outrage of their religious audience. But she could hardly bring herself to care. Taking his face in her hands, she looked him over and noticed instantly that his skin was cut and ruddy with dirt, his clothes torn in places and caked in mud. Before long the children were surrounding them, as relieved as their mother to see that their father was safe and sound.

"What _happened_?" she implored, her worried eyes darting between her husband and Max. Georg opened his mouth to answer her, but he was immediately cut off by the Reverend Mother.

"Might I suggest we save the reunions for later," she insisted warmly but with unwavering authority, "I'm afraid we have company."

Georg nodded bitterly in understanding, "Zeller," he snarled, jaw clenching as Maria's eyes widened in dismay, "they ambushed us back at the villa," he explained, "I knew they'd come looking for us here."

"The Reverend Mother has somewhere we can hide father," Friedrich stepped forward gallantly, his shoulders squared in an attempt to show his bravery, "we can help the little ones."

Grasping his eldest son's shoulder in gratitude, Georg turned to the elderly nun, gesturing with a nod of appreciation that she was free to take the lead.

"Come," the Mother Abbess instructed, "this way. There's precious little time," then, pausing to confront the gaggle of fascinated nuns who continued to stare open-mouthed at the bizarre scene in front of them, she added formidably, "as you were, Sisters!"

Immediately the miniature crowd seemed to remember themselves and scattered like marbles while murmuring their apologies, leaving the Von Trapps, their uncle and the accompanying Viennese socialite to flee after the Reverend Mother dutifully. Guiding them through various twists and turns, the elderly nun led them deeper and deeper into the convent and up a flight of stairs that opened out onto the yard, the open space rife with tombstones. Without delay, they were taken across to the other side where a section that lay behind wrought iron gates made for the perfect hiding place.

"In here," the Reverend Mother commanded, allowing them through the gates one by one and then handing Georg the keys, "lock yourselves in and hide behind the tombstones. I'll fend them off as best I can."

Urgently, Georg locked the gate and then reached through the bars, taking the elderly nun's hand warmly in his, "thank you," he whispered, with all the gratitude he could possibly convey in those two simple words. The Reverend Mother smiled and squeezed his hand back just as firmly, before turning on the spot and leaving the same way they'd come.

Left to their own devices, the family arranged themselves strategically behind the large tombstones alongside Elsa and Max, ensuring there were no hands or feet still visible beyond the shadows. Just as they had settled into position they heard the low din of voices growing closer at the bottom of the stairs.

"Herr Zeller, I really must protest!" The insistent objection had unmistakably come from the Reverend Mother.

"Move aside woman!"

"This is the house of _God_ -"

"I said move aside!"

Pressing a finger to his lips to keep the little ones quiet, Georg tried to ignore the panic blooming in his own chest. It was no use however - soon enough Zeller and his men would search the yard and discover their hiding place. There was nowhere else for them to run. And he understood, even before his mind had registered it, that he would need to give himself up. It was the only way he'd be able to keep his wife and children safe. It would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do - but he knew Maria had enough love in her heart to carry their brood through the loss of their father. They would survive without him, just as they had survived the loss of Agathe.

Just as he was about to launch to his feet and walk willingly into Zeller's warpath however, he felt an odd tugging sensation at his pocket that made him take pause. Looking down, he saw Elsa's perfectly manicured hand swiping for the gate's keys.

"What the hell are you _doing_?" He breathed, eyes wide with panic.

"Don't you _dare_ be a hero, Georg," Elsa warned with a pointed finger, her eyes sharp as she grasped hold of the keys, "Don't any of you come after me, do you hear me?"

Quickly, she stood, stepping out from behind the stone.

" _Elsa_!" Max hissed incredulously, as Georg tried in vain to pull her back, "what in God's name-"

But the socialite only gave a wistful smile over her shoulder, her eyes combing warmly over the ten of them.

"Auf wiedersehen, darlings."

And with that she unlocked the gate and slipped silently out into the yard. Heart pounding, Georg chanced a glance over the stone at that precise moment to see if he could go after her - but he was met with the sight of several soldiers reaching the top of the steps, spilling out into the yard with grim determination. They were followed rapidly by Zeller, Sister Berthe and a crestfallen Reverend Mother. Cursing under his breath, he darted back down behind the stone, bile rising in his throat.

"Two men down there.. " Zeller's voice rang clear, "Six of you cover the yard. You two, cover the corridor."

The sound of booted feet scattering in all direction filled the air - and it was then that Elsa chose to step into the light, bravery carrying her feet forward.

"They're gone, Wolfgang," she stated matter-of-factly, clasping her hands in front of her skirts with an air of calm she certainly didn't feel, "you're too late."

Whirling on the spot, Zeller's eyes narrowed and then widened when they fell upon the unexpected woman who was addressing him.

"Elsa?" He breathed in abhorrent disbelief, his black eyes flickering, "where is he? What are you doing here?"

"I told you," Elsa repeated, "He's gone."

Confusion shrouded the Nazi rat's face, until comprehension began to dawn, and his expression twisted into a menacing scowl.

" _You_ facilitated von Trapp's escape?!"

"I assure you it's the _least_ of my current transgressions," her perfectly rouged lips quirked upwards in a little smile, "If only you knew, darling."

Zeller's face turned puce with rage as it dawned on him that there was far more to her apparent involvement than she was letting on - coupled simultaneously with the incomprehensible fact that he'd been bested by none other than a woman.

"You'll be shot for this!" He spat furiously, reaching for his weapon. Back behind the tombstones, Georg instinctively lurched forward in an attempt to come to Elsa's aid, but a firm hand on his shoulder from Maria reminded him that he couldn't move a muscle - not if he wanted to keep his children safe. With extreme reluctance, he sank back down on his haunches in the shadows, feeling utterly helpless in light of Elsa's gallant sacrifice.

The socialite's next words however, made her assailant take pause, gun raised in mid air.

"I don't doubt I'll be punished severely," she accepted solemnly, "The Fuhrer does not take kindly to traitors - we all know that. But perhaps, _don't_ carry out my sentence in front of the Sisters," she gestured to the stricken Mother Abbess and Sister Berthe, who were both watching the scene unfold from a few feet away, "Not in the house of the Lord. I won't pretend to know anything about your religious beliefs, Wolfgang, but I _do_ know that even _you_ are not so callous as to commit murder in such a holy place."

Clearly struggling with his own internal battle, Zeller didn't move for long seconds, contemplating his next move.

"God is always watching, Herr Zeller.." the Reverend Mother murmured wisely - though it was perhaps the wrong thing to say, because the barrel of the Nazi's gun shifted instantly until it was trained on the elderly nun instead.

"You shut your mouth!" He seethed - and Elsa immediately stiffened, taking an alarmed step forward in an attempt to regain control of the situation.

"Like any prisoner of war, I deserve a fair trial," she coaxed him hastily, "we've known each other a long time. You are many things, Wolfgang, but _unjust_ is not one of them."

"Enough!" Zeller barked, his gun returning to Elsa, the Mother Abbess apparently forgotten for the time being, "you are a liar and a traitor and I'll personally see to it that your every move is investigated. If I have my way, you'll never see the light of day again," with that, he turned to his men, "Arrest her!"

Within seconds, she was surrounded, her hands bound tightly behind her back. She didn't attempt to resist, allowing them to detain her with her head held high, emitting as much elegance and grace as she would have done if she were about to open a Viennese ball. She would miss that life - the champagne, the waltzing to various Strausses, the opera gowns, the gossiping gaily in her glittering salons - but the Vienna she'd once known, the _Austria_ she'd once known, was gone for good.

The intelligence she'd gathered for the British, with Max and Maria's assistance, would hopefully help to path the way to a greater future. One in which a madman didn't rule over the entirety of Europe. One in which death and destruction were things of the past. There would be difficult times ahead, she knew - and what would become of them all still remained a mystery. But one thing was for certain. She, Elsa Shraeder, Viennese socialite turned unlikely British intelligence - _she_ had helped an innocent man and his family go free. And with such knowledge came something else. Something she hadn't felt in a long time. _Peace_.

Maria watched, tears lacing her eyes as the woman who'd once tried to banish her from the villa now made the ultimate sacrifice in order to save her and her family. A glance to her left told her that Georg too was holding back tears, and Max had long since given up the fight, his cheeks wet with sorrow as he watched Zeller's men lead Elsa away. Wanting to comfort him but finding no words that could possibly make things better, Maria settled for taking the impresario's hand. It shook like a leaf in her palm, and he took a shuddering breath that rattled with grief.

As soon as it was safe, the Reverend Mother hurried to the gates and ushered for them to come out of their hiding places.

"Oh Reverend Mother," Maria implored as Georg wrenched open the gates and herded the children out, "we didn't realise we put the abbey in this danger!"

"No, Maria," the elderly nun reassured, "it was right for you to come here."

"And Elsa.. " Maria choked, "it's all my fault-"

"God will watch over her, my child. Have faith in His will."

Ignoring the lump in his own throat, Georg stepped forward, knowing they were still very much at risk, "She.. Elsa.. ," he swallowed painfully, "she mentioned that we might borrow your caretaker's car.."

But the Reverend Mother only shook her head gravely.

"I'm afraid our car will do you no good now. They'll be monitoring the borders for you, I'm sure of it."

Georg's brow thatched with worry.

"All right," he murmured, "if the borders are no good... then we'll drive up into the hills and go over the mountains on foot."

"The _children_ -" Maria exclaimed, but her husband hurried to reassure her.

"They'll be alright, we'll help them."

Friedrich stepped up honourably, "We can do it without help, father."

"Maria," the Reverend Mother clasped her hand, as Georg and Max led the children down the nearby steps and began helping them into the car, "You will not be alone. Remember: _I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help._ "

The tears that had laced Maria's eyes some minutes ago now freely spilled over as she pulled the only mother she'd ever known into her arms.

"Yes, Mother," she whispered, before taking one last look at the place that she had once called home.

"God be with you, my child."

* * *

 **A/N: so that's pretty much the end folks! We all know how the Von Trapps make it over the border. But don't worry, there will be a final epilogue-style chapter that ties up all the loose ends, including Elsa's fate, John's fate and of course, the fate of the Von Trapps! I'll also throw in some G &M deliciousness if it's in high demand.**

 **Thank you to all those who have reviewed and stuck with me throughout this story. It's a little different to those I've done before and quite possibly a little too far fetched as an AU - so I really appreciate all your kind words and all the thoughts you shared from start to finish!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: sorry for the delay in getting this up but work has been manic! Hopefully this ties up all those loose ends**

* * *

 **EPILOGUE: THE LETTER**

They'd married - _again_ \- in Switzerland, not long after crossing the border, much to the delight of their children. The best man however, had been more than a little disgruntled at the lack of readily available champagne, but they'd made do with the little provisions they'd had at the time. The tenuous journey that'd followed was not one he liked to dwell on too often, but they had eventually ended up in America - Stowe, to be precise - where he'd happened upon a farm for sale that, while rough around the edges, was perfect for his family.

Uncle Max had bunked with them for a couple of weeks until he'd finally found himself a small flat not far from the farm - and in truth, Georg had been glad to be rid of him. He wagered he'd had enough of the impresario's chaperoning to last him a lifetime.

After living in hotel rooms and - in some cases, in the back of disused barns, exhausted and emotionally fraught - moving into their new home had felt like being reborn again. And on that very first night in their new lodgings, he had indeed come alive, tangled in the comfort of his wife's loving arms.

And that's exactly where Georg Von Trapp found himself now, several weeks later, the rare opportunity for intimacy too urgent to ignore. The children had left a short while ago on an outing with their uncle Max, somewhere in the vast outdoors of Vermont, leaving the house free for a delectable amount of mischief. Struck by a sudden and violent need for his wife, Georg had decided that the pantry - where he'd discovered Maria busying herself with various canned goods on the shelves - was an excellent place to start.

Ambushing her from behind, he wasted no time in clamping his lips to the back of her neck and snaking his palms up her rib cage, until-

"Georg!" She startled, whirling around to face him with a witless laugh, "you scared me!"

What should've frightened her more, however - or at least _would_ have frightened her, had she been new to the intimacies of marriage - was the raw hunger she discovered in her husband's gaze upon looking at him. Wordlessly, the smile faded from her face, replaced instead by a hot flush of anticipation. She knew that look in his eye only too well, had witnessed it many a time - beginning with the Laendler and ending in a fiercely satisfying and breathless six weeks in Paris.

During their first two years of marriage, she'd learnt that he could rob the air from her lungs with such a look, as though he was already making love to her without a single touch having passed between them. But since the whirlwind of their divorce and subsequent escape, they'd barely had any time alone together at all. In fact, she vaguely recalled, the last time he'd looked at her like that was the night he'd climbed the trellis back in Aigen, when he'd left her desperate and gasping on the drawing room floor. She'd almost forgotten the sheer power behind that half-starved gaze...

And that was her last articulate thought before he pulled her into his arms, crushing his mouth to hers in a demanding kiss that robbed her of oxygen. Her head spun, and she'd scarcely drawn breath before his tongue descended upon her jaw, her neck...

"Darling.." she gasped mindlessly, gripping at the breadth of his shoulders, "the children.."

"Out," he grunted against her thrumming pulse, the skin raw and hot and delicious beneath his teeth, "with Max."

She didn't need any further convincing. With a moan of relief her body melted instantly into his affections, wrapping around him like a vine. The encouragement apparently only fuelled his craving, because it wasn't long before his fingers were parting the material of her blouse, shoving it aside so that his mouth could find her breasts.

"Here?" She rasped, shocked at his boldness - the _pantry_ of all places! But she was incandescent all the same, as his tongue discovered a taught nipple.

"Yes," came his rough command, his mouth full of her. He left no room for argument, "right _here_."

"But-" The children might be out, she reasoned, but they could be back at any moment...

"Maria," he choked urgently, pulling back to look at her - and if she hadn't known any better she might've thought he was begging, "I _need_ to be inside you. I need it badly. And I need it _now_."

Even if she'd _wanted_ to protest, the burning desire in his eyes left her speechless - and before she knew it, he had found his way under her skirts, wrenching her underwear aside and claiming the arousal beneath with his fingertips. Her lids fluttered closed in pleasure then, her head fell back at his featherlight touch, relieving the pulsing ache that had begun to blossom there. But just as she was letting herself become lost in the blissful sensation, his fingers were suddenly gone from her body, leaving her bereft - and her eyes snapped open in objection.

The impatient censure was waiting on her lips, but he shocked her into scandalised and aroused silence when he drew the very same fingertips into his mouth, curling his tongue around them with a groan of approval.

She stared at her husband in fervent awe, her cheeks flaming.

"You taste the most exquisite when you're _this_ ready for me," he murmured darkly, his eyes holding her captive. Impatiently, he made short work of his belt buckle and buttons, "did you know that?"

She could only moan by way of response - and then he was covering her mouth with his own again, hot and wet and demanding, anchoring arms of steel beneath her and lifting her off her feet. Skirts bunching at her waist and legs winding their way instinctively around his hips, she found herself hopelessly pinned between his solid body and the stacked shelves behind her. Any reservations she might've had simply flew from her head however, when he began easing her down onto the painful evidence of his need. Their adventurous position meant that she sheathed him entirely without a moment's delay, and they shared a groan of mutual relief over the heady sensation.

A panted breath, a clash of tongues, and then a possessive hand was leaving one thigh to curl around the nape of her neck, holding her close so that he could kiss her without restraint. And then, _finally_ , he began to move. Slow, deep, _insistent_ nudges that sparked fire in the depths of her body and made it difficult to breathe. Her husband too was clearly affected - perhaps more so than he'd anticipated - for his mouth fell slack with pleasure at the first hint of friction, followed by the lowest of vulnerable whimpers.

"The way you _grip me_.." she felt him shudder violently through his own words, "...so tight!"

His voice was so low it was almost inaudible - but she heard. _By God_ , she heard. And she knew it must be true, because he was filling every inch of her with solid flames, to the point that she didn't think she had anything left to give him. They fit together so perfectly, so effortlessly, that she could hardly believe she'd once thought of dedicating herself to a life of higher purpose, a life in which she would never have known a man's touch, a life in which her only true joy would've been song.

Ohh but she was singing now, her voice raised in a series of high, sharp cries duetted with the desperate moans of his deep baritone, backed by the steady beat of their movement against the shelves. And just as with music, she found herself lost to the whims of her body, gripped by the tempo and rhythm and melodious harmony of their love-making. It raged and flowed and churned like the eye of a storm inside her, fighting to burst forth like the notes of a song she couldn't contain.

The tumultuous energy grew louder, more insistent, more urgent - threatening to consumer her, threatening to drive her to the brink of sanity. Until finally, his tenor gave way to a feral growl and the rhythm broke as he surged wildly upward, drawing from them both a climactic crescendo worthy of the Vienna Philharmonic itself.

It was some time later that they finally came back down to earth, both visibly shaken from the intensity of their encounter, hearts thundering in synchronisation.

"I love you," he rasped, kissing her deeply - almost as though he was afraid he'd scared her. But she put his mind at ease with a conspiratorial smile, repeating the sentiment back to him.

"Come on.." she offered suddenly, taking his hand and pulling him from the pantry once they'd righted their clothing, "I'll make you some brunch."

Following her happily, he helped her around the kitchen for a while, talking of everything and nothing all at once, sharing smiles over the secret liaison they'd just encountered. Absentmindedly, he picked up the morning's post on the table and rifled through the various envelopes - until one in particular caught his eye. It was hand written, though it wasn't addressed to anyone specifically - it had only their home address on the front, etched in a heavy scrawl that he swear he recognised...

"You know," Maria giggled from somewhere behind him, oblivious to his discovery, "it feels just like our honeymoon all over again, Georg. Like no one knows we're here!"

"Well, not quite," he quipped with a chuckle, turning to face her and holding up the letter for her to see, "it looks like _someone_ knows we're here after all."

Maria's brow knitted in a confused frown, "who's it from?"

Shrugging, Georg turned the envelope over in his hands, "in all honesty it was probably meant for the previous tenant."

"Well," she implored, "open it."

Doing as she asked, he tore the letter open and scanned its contents with intrigue. It turned out it was for him after all...

* * *

 _Dear G_

 _Where I am, the hills are still alive_

 _Though everything seems a little more still_

 _We stay strong in the face of our foes_

 _And fall not into hysteria_

 _But we live in dangerous times_

 _And to fail is our biggest phobia_

 _Let us not wallow in grief_

 _But hold our heads above the surface_

 _Cowards will hide in the dark of the night_

 _and you might hear their desperate plea_

 _But we must tread this perilous track_

 _Until one day we might go free_

 _Across the world, across the Pacific_

 _Find our courage in every stanza_

 _For we will not be forced to cower_

 _We'll fight like the wave of a restless see_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Your kidnapper_

* * *

Georg stared at the final word of the bizarre poem suspiciously. 'Sea' was misspelt... deliberately? Or purely by coincidence? His heart began to pound as his eyes frantically scanned the note again, the ink coming into sharper focus. _Your kidnapper..._

"It doesn't make any sense.." Maria interrupted his reverie.

"Yes.." he whispered to himself, dumbstruck - and then louder, so she could hear, "yes, it _does_!"

Rushing over to her, he shoved the piece of paper into her hands excitedly and ran his index finger down the final words of each line, as though that might enlighten her somehow. But her face remained blank.

"I don't understand."

"Look closer," he instructed with a triumphant grin, "look at the final letter of each sentence. It's a message!"

Maria leaned closer, squinting at the words under his pointing fingertip. And sure enough, there it was: a vertical message hidden within the final letters of each sentence, jumping out at her from the page.

* * *

 _Where I am, the hills are still aliv_ _ **e**_

 _Though everything seems a little more stil_ _ **l**_

 _We stay strong in the face of our foe_ _ **s**_

 _And fall not into hysteri_ _ **a**_

 _But we live in dangerous time_ _ **s**_

 _And to fail is our biggest phobi_ _ **a**_

 _Let us not wallow in grie_ _ **f**_

 _But hold our heads above the surfac_ _ **e**_

 _Cowards will hide in the dark of the nigh_ _ **t**_

 _and you might hear their desperate ple_ _ **a**_

 _But we must tread this perilous trac_ _ **k**_

 _Until one day we might go fre_ _ **e**_

 _Across the world, across the Pacifi_ _ **c**_

 _Find our courage in every stanz_ _ **a**_

 _For we will not be forced to cowe_ _ **r**_

 _We'll fight like the wave of a restless se_ _ **e**_

* * *

Comprehension dawned, and her hand instantly flew to her mouth.

" _John_!" She cried, with a joyful laugh of disbelief, "oh he's brilliant! How on earth did he know we were here!"

Georg shrugged with a baffled chuckle, "That's John for you!" he said simply, shaking his head, "he really does have connections everywhere."

"And Elsa's safe..?" Maria murmured wistfully, looking over the note again, "I can hardly believe it! Oh I'm so relieved.."

Naturally it would be years before they heard the full story from their children's maternal grandfather - but after their flight from Nonnberg, John Whitehead had staged a rescue worthy of historical legacy. On that fateful day, Georg had informed John of Elsa's arrangement with the Reverend Mother just before he and Max had fled the villa. He'd wanted to warn his father-in-law that they would be leaving Austria for good and taking the children with them. Little had he known though, that John was already keeping tabs on Elsa...

After hunting down those responsible at the Secret Service and giving them a piece of his mind, John had discovered that the Viennese socialite was in as much trouble with the British as she was with the Nazis. She'd apparently abandoned protocol when helping the Von Trapps and the Secret Service didn't take kindly to folly. Since that disturbing but undoubtedly revealing conversation, John had watched Elsa's every move. Not to catch her out, but rather, to _protect_ her. She had, after all, kept his grandchildren safe - despite her somewhat questionable methods.

Following her every movement right up to the gates of Nonnberg Abbey with a dutiful Fischer and Müller beside him, he'd known Elsa had succeeded in her escape plans when he'd seen the caretaker's car bolting away from the convent at lightning speed. What he hadn't expected to see however, were the Nazi vehicles parked outside the abbey walls. Though they needn't have worried, because two nuns had suddenly appeared as if from nowhere, tampering with the vehicles' engines.

Chuckling to himself, he'd been about to leave, satisfied that the escape had gone according to plan - when suddenly Zeller and his men had spilled out onto the street, escorting a bound and cuffed Baroness Shraeder along with them. Alarmed, John had watched helplessly, mind ticking with options, as Elsa was shoved into the nearest car. It hadn't taken long for the soldiers to realise the vehicles were faulty - and Zeller had begun barking orders left, right and centre - until his men had scattered in various directions in order to find a solution to the issue. Only four Nazis had remained behind.

It was then that John had spotted his chance. With Müller and Fischer quick at his heels, they'd staged a vicious ambush, taking Zeller completely by surprise. They'd received a knock or two of their own in the resulting scuffle, but it'd been worth it, for they'd succeeded in retrieving a shaken Elsa from the car and getting her quickly to safety. Where she was now however, remained a mystery - even to the likes of John Whitehead. But rumour had it she'd finally treated herself to that lovely trip around the world she'd always meant to plan. As for SS colonel Hans Landa, he'd unfortunately survived his head injuries but was deemed unfit for active duty. Rendered useless in the Fuhrer's regime, he'd been cast aside, forced into menial labour in support of the war effort.

"I hope one day we see Elsa again," Maria admitted woefully, scanning the letter one more time, "John too."

"I know.." Georg murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "maybe one day when this wretched war is over, we'll see them _both_ again. Until then," he looked around the room fondly, "I've found contentment in the life we've discovered here," he turned to his wife again then, his eyes piercing with devotion, "Nothing is more important to me than my family, Maria. _Nothing_."

He'd said it to her the day she'd asked for the divorce and the meaning as he repeated the words wasn't lost on her. She'd always known it to be true in the deepest recesses of her heart. Georg Von Trapp was many things - a decorated war hero, a widower, a leader, a patriot, a baron, a father, and now, a farmer - but above all else, he was her _husband_. Her partner. Her entire world. Europe might be in turmoil, the future might be uncertain, but in the comfort of her family's embrace she would always find her peace.

 _Yes_ , she thought gratefully, clutching the precious letter tighter. _All was well_.

* * *

 **THE END**

 **A/N: Ta-da! Well I hope you liked the finale, and thank you ever so much for reading my story.**

 **I'm unsure as to what I'll be writing next - but I had a little project idea I'd love your opinion on. I thought about starting a series of T and M-rated vignettes of G &M in various **_**romantic**_ **scenarios (pre-marriage, post-marriage, honeymoon etc) all at the request of the readers. So basically, you'd tell me a particular scenario between M &G that you'd like to read about and I'd do my best to put it into words. Each chapter would be unrelated to the last, but would be written based on each of your requests. **

**Not sure if this has been done before so apologies if so, but would that be of interest to anyone? I always find myself wishing there were fics that covered X,Y or Z scenario and so I thought you might like it if I put the vote down to the readers? Just a thought!**

 **Anyway, thanks again for all your kind words.**


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